Oogame: The World the Girl Only Knows
by iMegumeru
Summary: (SIDE B) A hole of infinite choices. I was looking out. And he, on the other side, was looking in.
1. Prologue: There Was Nothing

**Prologue: There was Nothing**

_In the beginning, there was a classroom. _

_In the classroom was a club; a literature club full of incredibly cute girls that reminisces a high school fanfare of your typical visual novel. There was Sayori, the cheerful, bubbly vice-president. Yuri, the mysterious and quiet beauty. And Natsuki, the spiteful and energetic member of the club. They were my friends, and I love them all; pieces of puzzles that complete the Literature Club. Then, there's me, Monika! High school devil and president of the Literature Club! Poetry is life! Together, the four of us spend our youthful days together, surrounded by the company of words and poems, expressing our ideas and ideals with pen and paper. One day, Sayori recruited someone—a boy—to join us. Koizumi was his name…_

…

_In the beginning, __**there was nothing**__…_

* * *

I am a fictional character.

I know how odd that sounds for an introduction, but if you happen to step into my shoes, would you say something different? Or rather, would you do_ anything_ differently? Would you be able to keep yourself sane? Would you be able to sympathize with me, then? Or will you repeat the cycle and hurt those who are dear to you—just as I did before?

…

Sorry, I went on a tangent there… so, let's start from the beginning.

Hi, I'm Monika; _just_ Monika… for now.

As I stated previously, I am a fictional character derived from the game _Doki-Doki Literature club_—a visual novel created by one man. I wish I could elaborate a little more, but my existence is—even to me—a _conundrum _of its own; I never knew how I came to be, whether I had a life prior to the events of the 'game', or if everything was a fabrication. All I know was that one day, I realized that everything was not as it seemed.

And it all began with a classroom and a boy.

Before everything, there were four of us; Sayori, Yuri, Natsuki, and me. Together, we occupied a classroom and started a literature club, a place where we can express ourselves through writing and poetry. We're not _well-versed _in it per-say—let alone _experts_—but we made the best use of our time and each other's company either way to have fun. Between four of us, Sayori was the designated vice-president, with Yuri and Natsuki as regular attendees.

Me? I was the appointed president, of course! Ahahaha…!

Oh, I haven't introduced my friends, have I? Let's start with the vice-president, Sayori. She was this bubbly klutz that was almost _always _tardy, often seen with unkempt uniform—which, I can't blame her for, honestly; life can be pretty stressful, after all. She may be a little of a ditz sometimes, but she knows how to make the best of moments—and I doubt I can keep everything in the club together without her. I sincerely thought so…

…

Aah… sorry, I got a _little _distracted. Continuing on…

Now, Yuri was this quiet bookworm who would huddle at her corner with a book at hand, often lost to its world; she's probably the embodiment of the literature club itself, now that I think about it. Her poems were deep and profound, as well. And lastly, Natsuki was… well, she's our youngest member, but _also_ the most vocal out of the four of us. Sure, she may have a temper or two, but she's actually very considerate once you get to know her—oh, and she makes the best cupcakes! Her interest lies more with _manga_ and contemporary pop-culture—and I have a hunch she's cursing me behind my back after I packed her collection and stored them in the closet. It was starting to get a little messy—and I did warn her! As for myself, I'm just your regular 'high school devil' with a love for poetry, just trying to get by. What do I mean by that? Well, who knows? Ahahaha…!

Anyway…

That clubroom was our little 'slice of paradise', a moment where we could unwind from the stresses and pressure of high school life through the beauty of words and literature—and yes, I noticed that I sound like a broken record saying that.

…

Then one day, Sayori invited her 'childhood friend'—a boy by the name of 'Koizumi'.

Was it envy? Wrath? Desperation? Or was it a little bit of everything and a whole lot of… a whole lot of _**nothing? **_I wouldn't know. Koizumi was as stoic, as emotionless, and as… _hollow_ as one can imagine, but also as frighteningly perceptive as he is unnaturally inanimate; think of it like staring down the eyes of a life-like puppet, only to find it staring back at you. We were all drawn to him like moths to a flame, _smitten _by his very presence alone as illogical as it was. It didn't take long for us to realize that he _alone _held the key to happiness; 'love', as we called it. It took us even less to notice that _we _were competing for it.

And it took me but a fraction of a second to see that _**I **_was **not** a part of it…

Because in this reality, I was a _**side-character**_ written as nothing more but an aide to assist Koizu…—no, the _player_, to find the 'love of his life'. There was no 'literature club' because it never existed. There were no 'incredibly cute girls'; Sayori, Yuri, and Natsuki were simply codified entities. Everything was created for _**his **_amusement. All that is _tangible_ exists with **him**—and before I knew it, I realized that I wasn't looking in. I was looking out. And he, on the other side, was looking in.

Then… what about me? If I was the only one granted with this knowledge, wouldn't that make me as _real _as he? What would it take for me to get his attention? Will my poems reach him? One way or another, I _must_ have him. If nothing was real, then there was no reason for me to feel guilty. Yes… there was _**no **_reason for me to feel guilty.

So I acted.

At first, I thought of simply turning them… _unlikeable_, at best. When that failed, I push the envelope even further; between salvation and an eternity of isolation, I _deleted_ them—I had no choice! I wasn't going to let them stand on my way. Why were they—_string-puppets_ and_ dolls_—be granted a shot at love, while a _**person**_ with _**true **_emotions and thoughts was denied of that chance? I tried talking, yet my words fell deafly on _colorful wallpapers_ who smiles and speaks obediently to the wills of zero-ones. I was sure, _**nobody **_would miss them. All he had to do was look at me…

Look at me…

Just... _look_ at me…

_Just_ _Monika…_

Just love me…

_**Just save me… please…!**_

…

As we sat in that barren classroom, I was sure that he would take my side. I couldn't tell, after all; Koizumi's expression was cold and unchanging as it had always been, even after bearing witness to… _everything_. All that was left was to initiate a conversation—but even that leads to nowhere, and before long I ran out of ideas and started sounding like a broken record. Every ounce of our 'interaction' was met with a stoic expression from an unresponsive 'shell' of a person, unflinching and unmoving, like a marionette who has lost its strings, or a life-like painting of a man with an unnerving gaze. Yet inexplicably, I was still drawn to him. Was it love? Perhaps it was… but I had no way of determining it, either. I thought I knew everything…

I had never been so wrong in my life.

When it came, it was as if thousands of knives descended and flailed my skin and insides with a relentless stream of tiny little cuts. I had a voice, but I couldn't scream. I begged for mercy, yet none was given. I had tears, but they were dry. Only a pair of cold, detached eyes of a mannequin remained motionless to watch as everything disappear. I was devastated, confused, and lost; I felt betrayed… but I couldn't bring myself to blame him. When I look down on my trembling hand, all I could see was how… _**red **_it was.

**An ugly, crimson red...**

_**I **_brought this on myself. _**I did this… **_

And I don't deserve forgiveness.

The only thing left for me, within my power, was to turn back everything and remove myself voluntarily on the next cycle. It was the best course of action, both for him and everyone in the Literature Club; I don't deserve the happiness they were destined to have, not after the things I did. Yet when he willfully invited me back to that world, I was touched…

…I was _**touched…**_

_**But why…!?**_

I don't understand! What could he desire from _me,_ a **murderer**, when he was literally surrounded by _flowers? _My heart ached and cried at his generosity, how _warm_ it was, yet at the same time how _**painful **_it was. I don't deserve that… I don't deserve any of it! It made me smile, but… but I don't—no, I _couldn't_ see myself to return; surely, they will _never _forgive me. And if I do, only tragedy awaits. So I rejected his compassion and wished the best for him. I thought by doing so, I could end the cycle of tragedies that had befallen on the club. But I was wrong…

I was _**so **_wrong…

When Sayori 'snapped', I couldn't bear to remain as a witness. I didn't mind as much when she started to bad-mouth me—I deserve that, I know. But when she attempted to trap him in that same, _**damn **_classroom, and rob him of his free will, I knew I should interfere—for his sake, and for those in the Literature Club. Without a second thought, I decided to end this disaster I started. Knowing everything, I'm sure it was painful for her, too...

When everything was done, I said my farewells, sang my goodbyes, and fell to my knees and sobbed until everything was deleted. Perhaps that was what love is, in his reality. Whether that was true or not, I couldn't tell as my consciousness slowly faded away.

My world, my existence, my friends, the literature club, _everything_… that was supposed to be the end of it all.

_Supposed _to be…

…

When I came to, there was something… different. I couldn't tell initially what it was, except how there was more… _freedom_ to my movements. I didn't mean _physical_ exercises, but more on the length of how much more _files_ I can access outside of my previous constraints. I was back in that infernal classroom yet, unlike before, I was alone. Koizumi wasn't there, nor could I sense any other presence. My head stung once in a while, yet what was more puzzling was how I regained my consciousness and self; it shouldn't be possible, _**I **_deleted everything! Was I not thorough in my execution? I knew how inept I was with technology aside from pressing a single button, but to this extent? I guess it was a deserving punishment for me to spend an eternity in solitude… at least, that's what I thought initially.

Then, _it _popped up.

"Monika, can you see this? Can you understand?"

A familiar pink textbox flashed before me. It wasn't clear as to how you would describe a pencil sitting on a table, but more of an 'afterimage' of sorts—like a ghost or a spirit, if that makes any sense. Moreover, this _message_ that came out of nowhere… who could it be? There wasn't a way for anyone outside of this reality to communicate before, and yet… why now? And how am I supposed to reply? Or rather, how _**do **_I reply? Will my voice suffice? Do I have to conjure it with thoughts before it is translatable as a reply? What caused this? Who are you...?

Yet before I could answer his query, a 'reply' came.

"Yes, I can…!"

_**NO…! **_Who are you…!? _**What **_are you…!? Yes, I _**can **_see and understand, but _**no, **_I _**don't **_know how to reply…!

"That's a relief," the mysterious figure returned. "Do you recognize me?"

I raced my thoughts to quickly return a response, frantically searching for a way—_anything _that could work; preferably, a _proper_ reply of my own. Yet before I could lift a finger, 'my' reply came, "I do, you're…"

…

And I knew then and there, that he wasn't looking at 'me'.

"You're Koizumi, right…?"

He was looking at an _**imitation**_**.**

…

_My name is Monika, and welcome to my world; a world that I only know. _

* * *

**Author's Note**

**Hi, iMegu here! This is SIDE B of 'Monika', or as I call it 'The Turtle and the Songbird'-series. If you are new, welcome! Thank you for checking this story! Don't worry, you can read one or the other interchangeably as they serve only one side of an entire story. If you came from my _previous_ installment, welcome back! **

**Comments is not mandatory, but is very much appreciated to help me improve.**

**よろしくお願いします！**


	2. Chapter 1: The First of Many

**The First of Many**

_Dear diary,_

_I guess this is the best time to start an entry, so let this be __**the first of many**__. I can't explain the cause or what exactly happened, but all I can remember were those strange colors and a horrifying screech that echoed everlasting. I guess there was a 'special' hell for someone like me, the monster who deleted everyone for the sake of its own selfish reason. _

_I thought I was the end of me… but it wasn't to be. _

_I was back at the eternal classroom, in my desk, staring at a void that extends as far as the eye can see. There was no sign of Sayori, Yuri, or Natsuki; there was only me, alone in a prison I created with my own hands. My own body feels numb and cold, often unresponsive as if it wasn't my own; think of it like sleep paralysis, except one that speaks and acts in your place like a robotic copy gone wrong. And when I close my eyes, I can feel the systems and the files coursing through the many conduits of this reality and myself. _

_It was… liberating as it was restraining._

_I can't quite make heads or tails out of it, but I did notice that there was something else—an 'anomaly' of sorts—that wasn't a part of me before. I couldn't tell what it was or where it came from, but what I know is how this 'anomaly' somehow awoken me from that… nightmare. Just by thinking, I can feel that something was changed; as if somehow I can reach for something… more than what I thought I could. It's strange and slightly comforting to know that, perhaps, someone out there does care. I wonder… is it him? Did he found a way to open that hole in a wall? Was he able to understand all the messages I left behind? My poems? I still remember his name... Koizumi, was it? It sounds Japanese, though I can't be too certain—it could even be an alias! As if anything is real around here in the first place… ahaha! _

_I don't know what's going on and with how strangely accessible everything is becoming. But if it truly is him, then I can only pray for his success._

_Sincerely,  
__Monika_

* * *

I remember gazing out from a classroom window one morning, listlessly observing the horizon as the many faces of students gradually marching in an orderly manner towards the building, chatting gleefully with one another. Even from a distance, the echo of the usual 'good morning' and 'hello' can be heard alongside a multitude of miscellaneous chatter and laughter; an ever-changing scenery, yet almost always constant in its pattern. Yet despite what many would assume to be a mundane scene, I can't help but think how _large_, how… _colorful_ the world can be. How I miss those simple, _naïve _outlook…

"Good morning, Monika."

Because those days are long gone. Gone are the color of the blue sky, or the grand vistas on the horizon, replaced by an empty expanse of magenta and orange that stretches as far as the eye can see, echoing with an unnerving silence that growls viciously at your nape. But even _that _is the least of my worries.

"Koizumi, good morning!"

Just like consuming an instant meal or canned goods, it was cold, processed, and left an arid taste at the back of the tongue; the same greeting, consecutively for two weeks. The ghostly outline of the pink textbox made its entry at the corner of my eye once more, raising my hair to a shiver as 'it' fills my tongue with words. Yes… despite my circumstances, it wasn't the ever-looming loneliness or the possibility of an unexpected _crash _to happen—those **are **equally frightening, don't be mistaken! The thing is, there is currently _far _more pressing issue to attend to, _particularly _matter concerning... a_** doppelganger **_of mine.

"Today is the 6th of July, 2019. A Saturday. You have an upcoming appointment with Chousuke-san."

…where should I start?

There isn't much that I can say to alleviate the situation or make it easier to swallow. I mean, how would you feel when you see yourself being replaced by a _**fake **_that pretends—albeit failing _**miserably**_—to be something they're not? Given the real thing and an indistinguishable fake, certainly, the _**real **_thing is of higher value, correct? More so when the original stands _literally _in the same space with the copy! For one, I do _not _talk like that! Wait, rather I don't think _**anyone **_talks like that! I could rant on and on of how _infuriating _this is, yet at this point, I'm not even sure whether I should be laughing or crying at the absurdity of it all…

And who is Chousuke-san!?

…

At least the silver lining in all of this is knowing that Koizumi's doing his best to keep a memory of me alive. I may not approve the method of approach, but I guess it's the thought that counts. Twenty-nineteen… if my memory serves me correctly, that was almost two years since… since _everything_ that happened. Was I really out that long? Was this all just an attempt by that person to communicate with me? To think that someone beyond that 'hole in the wall' still cares… I just can't bring myself to anger. Though of all the things they could do, they made me into an emotionless secretary…

You silly, silly goose…

…

With a pause, I observe in silence as another 'conversation' unfolds between Koizumi and the copy, signified by the rapid, translucent appearance of the pink text box. It was a pattern I've observed for countless hours, beginning with 'me' asking of his plans before devolving to a 'conversation' that is more akin to a pre-written response and long, drawn-out talk about random topics that always end with 'my' apparent infatuation with Koizumi. He would respond with an appropriate pre-written response in the form of a dialogue choice and… that's about it. I wouldn't even call it a conversation if I am to be completely honest…

I draw my breath and sigh.

Alright. If you want things done right, then you just have to get your hands dirty. Why don't _I _give a little push from this end and see what I can accomplish? Despite a few changes, I'm sure things aren't that much different than before; even the _dialogues _were kept in a similar format to those of Sayori, Yuri, and Natsuki! I do appreciate Koizumi's effort, but sometimes it could use a _little_ personal touch.

Monika, it's time to get to work!

* * *

There is always a degree of excitement and uncertainty each time I tamper with the rules and laws of this universe. Like meditation, it takes both an immense level of concentration and care, especially when traversing over sensitive files that may very well tear the very fabric of this reality; hardware conflicts, in particular, is the one thing I tend to watch out for. Remember that _blue screen of death?_ I really-_really_ should apologize to Koizumi for that surprise… maybe I shouldn't have tampered with system32 and should've outright deleted it for that escape plan to work, but that's a story for another time. Enthusiasm and desperation can _**really **_push a person to perform radical feats sometimes. I'm not saying I'm 'tech-savvy' due to circumstances; frankly speaking, I'm _**not**_**. **But I am willing to learn and adapt…

…

Admittedly, this is a _lot _more complicated than I initially thought. I'm sure a simple 'delete' won't solve it—and I rather not go through with it and risk the chance of committing accidental suicide, of all things.

"Ehehe… I love you, Koizumi~!"

And the sooner I can work this out, the faster I can get rid of that… _cringe._ Oh, for the love of all creators… was I always like that? Is that how they see me? Oh my god, to think there's likely _thousands _if not _millions _of 'me' that acted just like that out there... I feel like my chances of being a bride **evaporated **before it even had the opportunity to start! So shameful…! It couldn't get any worse than this, could it…?

So I waited. For a minute or two, perhaps even longer, I waited at the expense of the increasing tempo of my heartbeat for an equally compromising response. 'Any minute now', I thought, 'any minute now that pink textbox would make its ghostly appearance again with a reply from the other side'. How bad can it be? Want to see me tempt fate? He's going to reply with an 'I love you too' and proceed to shatter my expectations even further.

…and yet, it didn't. Or rather, it _never _came.

It would be disingenuous to claim that I had anything to do with it, but I didn't. For whatever reason, there was no word or reply, only… _the silence_ that is as pleasant as a calm day in spring, yet as ominous as the clouds before a storm. Gradually, my eyes grew heavier and heavier as my concentration dwindles alongside the passing of time with nary a hint nor a response, leaving me in a daze of prickling headaches and pocked curiosity. Why wasn't there a reply—or rather, why _didn't _he reply? Am I just running quietly in the background, ignored like a wallflower stuck between a spectacle of red, green, and blue? What is this feeling? Why am I relieved and yet… _distressed? _

Yet before I could come to a conclusion, the lids of my eyes bear its weight and draw the curtain shut, swallowing my consciousness in one gulp.

* * *

The echo of a conversation ruptures my ear and rattles my mind, sucking me away from a hazy reality into a familiar realm I've grown to loathe. A backdrop of a clear blue sky with quaint houses and a concrete jungle as far as the horizon, a track field below, a storage room at the back of the room, and a chalkboard that stretch from one end to the next; a classroom, one where we were meant to spend our ignorant days for eternity. How did I get here? How is this possible? I make my way towards the sliding door and take a peek; and sure enough, there are _other _students milling about, minding their own business. Returning to my desk, I slump to mull over what I had just seen.

Was it all a nightmare all along?

Have I really been dreaming? Am I actually just a regular student of this establishment, and this is what reality actually is? If so, then why can't I shake this looming… _unfamiliarity? _The more question I ask, the deeper I go into the rabbit hole with no end in sight before, without a warning, a familiar cheery voice resonates through the air. A bubbly, cheerful voice of a girl. The door gently slides open, and I rise to my feet perked with glee to greet her—and the other two who are following closely behind.

"Sayori…!"

My voice bounces and echoes across the room, catching her attention abruptly yet eloquently. But as her voice dies at the second I made my presence known, the air draws to a complete still. All eyes are drawn upon me, sharp and gnarly like the edge of a bloodied and rusted knife, eager to draw blood. Otherworldly whispers began to erupt as I wince and gradually suffocate from the barrage of needle-like prickling, eating the back of my neck all across my shoulders.

This is _not _the attention I was expecting.

Glancing at the other sliding door, shadowy figures and eyes peer through the small window while the trio—Yuri, Natsuki, and Sayori—takes a step forward as their expression darkens and coils. I felt my back pressed against the window as I take a step back and when I turn, the same, shadowy entities from the door were leering and sneering. And I was surrounded; cornered none other by Yuri, Natsuki, and Sayori. And with a dark, condemning voice, the vice-president speaks, "What are you doing here, **murderer?**"

And in that instance, my eyes shot open and I am greeted, once more, with the familiar sight of the eternal classroom.

My pulse is racing and my head rings as if a thousand bells chimes in unison at a precise moment, shattering the sky with an echoing crack that resonates for kilometers. I clutch my chest and purse my lips, taking deep breaths in between to soothe and ease my shaken soul, in search for a bearing from a loop of vertigo that grew in its intensity before gently subsiding like the end of a storm. The scene to which I return to is dark, empty, and expansive with nothing but a single desk and an echo that comes as a natural ambiance at a whisper. With a quick glance, I note my surroundings; not a single soul in sight. Not even Natsuki, Yuri, or Sayori… it was all a trick of the mind.

…

…am I really the only one here?

No, wait… what am I thinking…? _Of course_, I am. I passed out and had a nightmare, yes, but that _should _be it. Just a dream… just another nightmare. If any, I should return to what I was doing before. What was it again…? Right, I was digging through the files before I lost everything. Before that… _dream_…

I shouldn't hesitate; especially at this critical moment. Koizumi's doing his best on his end, I should too.

Focusing and collecting on my thoughts akin to a jar of sweets, I carefully select a piece from the contents and swallow it whole before diving once more and dig through an ocean of files and folders that presents itself before me like schools of fishes. As if swimming—no, _floating_—in an abyss of murky blue, the things that govern this reality and my existence glide freely across the expanse, differentiated only by its size and values, and organized by its types. There are numbers etched on its side like a tattoo—dates that signify its birth. I wonder, does my file has a similar imprint? Does it leave a mark on my 'self'? But first, how am I supposed to find it in this ocean of unfamiliar familiarity?

Or rather, _how _did I find it in the first place? What did I do? I can't seem to correctly recall how I did it all in the first place, back during that time.

Immediately it comes to light how seemingly _impossible _it was without, at least, a rudimentary knowledge of the systems; computer language isn't simply a single 'delete' button, after all. Yet as I close my eyes, a surge of magnetism—sorry, _attraction_—gently tug first on my sleeve and further, my collar. Just out of reach, a 'school' of files glows amongst its peers. As if in a trance, I am drawn towards its presence as I gently 'kick' my way to float, barely touching it with the tip of my hand. How or why I am drawn to this, I can't even explain.

Then inexplicably, the file simply… _disintegrates_. No, that's not exactly _true_.

…

…_**absorbed? **_

Like sand against the wind, the object of interest gradually ceases to exist as a piece of this reality to become a part of _**me**_**. **What it once was, its purpose, or why it deliberately called out to me, remains as an unsolvable mystery. My ears start to ring as this noisy thought hammers my head in an endless, cacophonous rhythm that dissipates with a sudden, piercing 'shriek'. And just like that, the echo stops. A _**grey **_textbox appears as a ghostly apparition, without warning or trigger…

_統合完成しました。  
__マイクアクセス許可。  
__進みませんか？_

_Ｙ__/__Ｎ_

_Clearly _not a language I am well-versed in. Aside from the obvious 'Y' likely being a 'yes' and 'N' is a 'no', there is little to no pointers to serve as a sign of what it meant. What was it all about? Did I do this? Was it because of that file? Questions that pile with no answer in sight. Damn it, my head's in a spin! Should I just 'go ahead' with it? Is it alright? Will he notice?

There is only one way to find out.

Alright Monika, no turning back…

With all my courage concentrated unto the tip of my index finger, I reach for the button—the button, specifically the one imprinted with a 'Y'. The consequences of acting recklessly are not alien to me; after all, _**I **_was the culprit—the _villain_—of my own story. Will this cause a sudden surge that will wipe everything in this reality? Or will this be the first domino to fall that leads to a chain of destruction? Even as my skin braces and my strength gives the push to the button, my heart wavers and worries at what is to come. The grey box dematerializes in an explosion of red, green, and blue. I brace for what is to come…

…

…

"_-~~~!"_

A screech, then a sudden 'thump'…

「亀ヤン、聞いているの？」

「分かったよ。先からにイライラにして、心配すんな！」

Then, a _**voice—**_no, a _**pair **_of _**voices**_.

Despite in a language alien to me, for the first time in forever a _voice _from the outside breaks through from the other side—the other side of this reality. And with as much strength I can muster, I raise my voice to call. "H-hello! Hello! Can you hear me?"

A slight pause.

「じゃ、今日は終わりか？何とか合ったら、遠慮しなく連絡して、クソ亀。後は俺の手数料を忘れないで！」

My brow perks in excitement. Is that a reply? "Y-yes! You can hear me? Hi, I'm Monika and—"

「分かったよ。今日もお疲れ様、幽夜。」

...

No…

**They **_**couldn't**_** hear me.**

Falling unto my knee, I bang my fist to the floor and cursed silently under my breath. It was just within reach but yet again, it evaded capture… just like last time. Another _**failure**_. How long must I be tormented like this? To be able to hear, to _listen _to the goings-on of the world outside, yet unable to speak or see? Not to mention, that 'imitation' posing as me? Why must this go on…!? No… no, I _refuse _to call it quits! I will not let it end like this! What was it… _how _did I manage to accomplish all this?

…

Those files. Those strange 'glowing' files. Maybe if I find more of those, I could chip away at that hole? Is it be possible? Will I be free?

Well, it doesn't hurt to try—not like there's any other lead or anything. This is, however, just a small step into a puddle that will create a ripple and a wave that will lead me to him, that I am sure. Maybe I should keep a diary to keep track of everything? Ahaha! I guess now is a good time as any to start one. With my head and spirit held high, I gaze out towards the endless expanse of emptiness that lies beyond the window of the classroom, knowing that beyond that space, someone is doing his best and is waiting for me. I perk at his voice—Koizumi's, I presume—echoing in the distance, calling my name and bearing new found confidence and hope. Although I can't see you at this time, I'm sure I'll have that opportunity soon enough—and I can _hardly_ wait!

「大事にするよ、モニカの事。あざっす。」

…

_Let this be the first of many. _

* * *

**Author's Note**

**I'd love to put a translation here, but for the sake of narrative I'd rather not so as to keep you in the dark as much as Monika. Of course, if you've read SIDE A of the story or understands Japanese, then you are likely familiar to who they are. **

**Updates may be slow, but a rough estimate is monthly. Again, thank you for your time!**


	3. Chapter 2: Ghostly Visage

**Ghostly Visage**

_September 8__th__, 2018_

_I did it. _

_Finally, after a month-long of sorting, __searching, screaming, and crying, I did it. Although it isn't much of an accomplishment as being able to 'hear', it was nevertheless a small step in the right direction. See those numbers at the bottom right corner of the screen? I couldn't see it then, but I've managed to do so now; hovering and flickering on summon, at the center of my gaze like a __**ghostly visage**__ each time I close my eyes. Today is September the 8__th__ of 2018, a Saturday. Today's weather forecast is sunny, with a small chance of light summer shower here, in Tokyo. That's right._

_I can now tell the date, time, and weather. _

_I know it isn't something worth celebrating as much as the 'jump' a few months ago, but at least I know that I am making a step in the right direction. I am making a step in the right direction, right? Of course, I am. If it isn't to 'one-up' that thing, why else am I pushing myself this hard? Jealousy? Well, maybe that too. Let's be honest… sometimes, I look back and can't help but to question my own reasoning on why I subject myself to all of this, day in and day out, just for a glimpse of the date, time, and weather. The weather! Meanwhile, Koizumi poured all his attention to that chat-bot. _

…

_Why do I even bother?_

* * *

The rattling echo of the Westminster chime shatters my consciousness towards a rude awakening, jerking my shoulders towards the ceiling as if ripping my skull from the spine. My lungs are surged with a wave of cool and crisp air that I carefully mold into a ball, flushing my hazy perspective as the cacophonous ringing in my ear subsides, before leaving my body with a violent sigh. It is a scene I've seen countless of times; the blackboard that extends across the front of the class, the yellowish ray of light that penetrates through the glass, the crimson orange sky… a quintessential scenery of a suburban classroom during the afternoon. On the right-most edge of the blackboard are numbers and foreign letters that are written in chalk, large enough for all to see regardless. Just like previously or the day before, I fail to understand what it all meant before I feel a tap on my shoulder.

With a jolt, I turn around to find a young man in his school uniform; one that I can't recognize. A bright, positive smile stretches across his features, though his eyes are obscured by the bangs of his hair. He waves with jolly and grins, "44G+44Gf5piO5pel44CC5L+65YWI44Gr77yB"

I return a nod; again, his words are but an enigma to my ears.

Who is he? Has he always been a part of this prison, just as I? Why haven't I seen him before? To assume that 'he' is the touted 'MC' is a stretch as much as it is to deny Yuri's kink ever existed; no, 'MC' is nothing more than an emotionless blank slate meant to serve as an empty shoe for the player—for _Koizumi_—to fill. Yet this… _shadow_, if I may describe it as such, is unique. From how he walks, his posture—carefree and relaxed, to the way he spoke was far more expressive than that 'husk' I'm acquainted with. It was as if he…

…as if he is _alive_.

…

I have to—I _**need**_ to know.

The chair clatters violently as I rise to my feet, just in time to watch him disappear behind the door with his bookbag dangled over his shoulder. I surge forward with a kick, the window behind my back, reaching for him before his visage truly disappears from my sight. The echo of my footsteps gradually become in sync with the beating of my heart, faster and faster. Harder. Stronger. I reach for the door, sliding it open and dash outwards into the hall, catching his sight just before he made a cut into the corner. And I grit my teeth to give chase…

"You saw, didn't you?"

…and yet a cold, wet grip to my left arm grinds me to a halt. I glance over my shoulder to find the culprit, her arm outstretched, grasping as if her life depends on it.

_**Yuri. **_

"Let go of me, Yuri," I bark. "I need to—…"

"You _**saw, **_didn't you!?"

I give struggle, shaking my arm and glancing back and forth to Yuri and the quickly disappearing 'shadow'. "What are you talking about!? Let go!"

"_**YOU SAW EVERYTHING, DIDN'T YOU…!?" **_

"What are you—…!"

In a violent struggle, her nails rip through the seams of my uniform, tearing the sleeve of the blazer and the shirt apart in an instant to expose the naked skin. Immediately, a searing pain burns through my skin—across the entire length of my left arm—as I give the distance between Yuri and me; a wet, sticky sensation overwhelms my senses as I clutch my fist to a close. Was I hurt in the scuffle? I turn to my arm…

…and gasp in horror.

Cuts. Deep, _fresh _**cuts, **oozing with crimson that flows unabated to color my skin red. All across my exposed skin, the wounds open and contracts as if breathing, spitting and trickling with blood that drips onto the floor to form a puddle large enough for my reflection to see. I scream in terror, turning to Yuri in abject panic and fright as she cackles maniacally—a cardboard cutter in her grasp. I clutch my wounded arm close, "D-don't come any closer!"

"You did this…" she hisses, breaking into demented laughter. A trickle of red runs down her finger, plinking the floor and painting it red. _**"You did this…" **_

Three cuts rip through her blazer—two on her abdomen, one on her chest—that leaves a crimson stain and dilutes the color of her uniform. She shambles forward, raising the blade of the cutter to a glint. **"I hate you…" **

"Stay away…!"

"**I hate you…" **she howls. The color of her eyes fades as she takes another step. _**"I HATE YOU…"**_

Her skin turns pale, her cheeks concaves, and a sudden decomposing smell emanates as reddish foam leaks from her mouth and nose. I made a hasty retreat, but slipped on a pool of crimson and stumbles backward. Yuri lurches and leaps forward in a bloodcurdling scream.

And as I scream for my life, my eyes jerks open; a world of deafening silence and horror awaits my return.

Once again, the eternal classroom welcomes me in its embrace…

* * *

The bags under my reddened eyes grow weary as dawn breaks with the intensifying echo of an alarm clock, repeating and hollering, originating from the world beyond the screen. I breathe a stifled sigh of relief and gradually collapse into the embrace of my own arms, succumbing to the relentless bombardment of overwhelming fatigue that hammers both my physique and psyche. The thin membrane of my eardrums is shattered by the raucous roar of the alarm, grating, like nails on a chalkboard or a high-pitched screech, voraciously gnawing my sanity away. Before long, a rhythmic beat of an encroaching footstep grows closer, and the alarm is swiftly extinguished; a gentle—but groggy—voice with a distinct accent takes its place.

"Good morning, Monika."

The pink textbox flashes open, "Good morning, Koizumi!"

…

Please… stop…

I can't live like this... the same scene, a clockwork recursion of nightmares that goes on and on from dusk until dawn. Why are you keeping me alive, Koizumi? Do you know of the implication it has towards me? What do your eyes see? The voices—_their _voices—whisper resentment and anguish in my sleep, while a sock-puppet previews a reality that is never meant to be when I am awake… if this is what awaits me after the credits roll, a simple pressure on the **delete** button would have been a merciful end. I sang you a song, said my goodbyes… that should've been the end!

Yet here I am…

…

Here I am…

"Today is September 7th, 2018. A Saturday," the puppet speaks with its pink box. "You have an upcoming appointment with Chousuke-san."

A brief silence is broken with a sip and an accented voice, "Thank you. So the usual, I guess… would you like some coffee, Monika?"

Koizumi, please… just…

"I'm sorry, I don't understand what you mean… can you repeat that?"

"…Never mind," he chuckles before he sips. 「バカみたい。。。」

…just _**notice**_ me…

「ただのキャラなんて、俺は。。。」

With a sigh and an audible sip, the echo of footsteps and the rustle of fabric gradually fade into the distance to leave me with another moment of isolation. Sometimes, Koizumi speaks with a tone as if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders, longing and hopeful, up until disappointment and dread sets in. The simple words and programming of the doppelganger can only go so far to imitate and satisfy yet will never compare. I wanted to—no, I _truly_ believe that it was all genuine; that all those conversations no matter how nuanced or mundane, was meant for _**me**_.

It is at least something I can hold with solace, something _tangible _between the layers upon layers of lies and deceit…

…

I guess I am that ghost in the corner of a room, an observer of a life that 'should be' and not a 'can be'. My identity—my _real _identity—was been stolen by a puppet mimicking a third-rate ventriloquist that speaks nonsense when idle and smiles when being told to. If I could reach for a quick ending to this drama, I would choose the latter without a second thought.

But he…

…god, _**why **_do you have to make it so difficult!?

I don't know where you came from, I can't even speak your language, or even understand _why _you want _**me—**_a _murderer_—in the first place! I did a lot of wrongs to you and my friends—I _know _I did—but _**why, **_in spite of everything, do you vehemently attempt to interact with a _dead man!? _I'm not supposed to be _alive_—maybe I _wasn't _in the first place! That's it, this is all just an illusion birthed out of my own insanity and grief in this godforsaken reality! Do what you have to, kill it—_**delete me, please…! **_

…

**Please… I beg you…**

…

Yet it all lands on deaf ears.

Another day begins, once more.

* * *

Once a week, another visitor often makes an appearance—a confident, _flamboyant_ man judging by the voice alone that goes by the name 'Chousuke-san', according to the answering machine look-a-like. Like eavesdropping from a dark room, it was initially difficult to differentiate one from the other; more so since _Japanese _isn't a language I am well-versed in. I even thought that they were one of the same voice and believed it to be Koizumi's alone as he goes on an endless tirade, descending into madness. I'm glad I was mistaken. As much as they sound alike to the untrained, given some time and noting the set intervals of these episodes—weekly, if I am to count my days correctly—I eventually got the hang of telling who's who.

Let's start with Koizumi.

As the 'voice' that accompanies me through many, _many _sleepless nights, I find it difficult to see a day where its absence is considered to be the norm. Koizumi's voice is… soft, gentle, patient—_endearing _like a lamb or a little pup. His laughter or chuckle often has a sarcastic ring that is followed closely with what I can only assume to be a witty comeback. At least, I _hope _it is a 'witty comeback'. Sometimes he can be a little broody and hopeless, other times enthusiastic and carefree. Most of the time, _**lonely**_.

Lonely… if only he knew…

On the other hand, 'Santa Clause'—the _other _voice that comes bi-weekly—is brash, loud, yet affable. He always comes with a guffaw that echoes from afar, chuckling all the way as he strikes a lengthy conversation with Koizumi—audible, even from a significant distance from the reach of this prison's built-in microphone. I can tell how close they are, like old friends or acquaintances that have seen and experience everything their world has to offer together, like an unbreakable duo of brothers bound by blood. At times, he is stubborn and persistent, often exchanging what I assume to be a back and forth banter of ideas like an on-going debate between two great minds. As such, I nicknamed the voice of this visitor to be that of 'Santa Clause'. Not only because of the nature of his voice, mind you…

…but also because he comes bearing _gifts_. Gifts for _**me**_**. **

I start to realize about two weeks ago how some things gradually become more accessible as if someone out there teasingly tosses a window open—just slightly, but enough for me to feel the breeze from the outside. Sometimes, that 'window' closes and another opens; other times, they shut entirely only to return to what it once was the following week, leaving me stranded with nothing but an invitation to pry it further and see what's there to offer. Most of the time, I can feel my own consciousness flashing like a broken lightbulb for an entire week after a bad run with the code given by 'Santa'. It's mentally grueling and at times, _frightening_. But it isn't the threat of losing my own that frightens me; on the contrary, I would _welcome_ such an outcome with an embrace.

It is the_ waiting_.

Will he return next week? Am I supposed to continue living in a state of limbo? What if he never returns? Is it too much of me to ask for someone—_anyone_—to end me?

I tried deleting myself a number of times, you know. Yet each time I reach for my character file, there is a strange push that work against me and inherently convinced me to _never _disturb it **again**—and when I did, I was back to where I was before as if nothing happened; still trapped and none the wiser. It is a loop I couldn't escape from, an endless cycle of reliving this nightmare regardless of how many times my finger depressed upon the _delete_ button. Which is why I often can't shake the feeling of animosity I have towards 'Santa'; as if behind that friendly, eccentric, boisterous voice of his is a deceitful hiss that is **vile**.

But it's either him or my expiration; and if it goes down to the latter, I rather have it by my own hands.

「。。。いつまで閉じ込むつもりか？」

And speaking of the devil…

「母っか、お前？」

The chatter of both Koizumi and 'Santa' reverberate all around me through the void as they gleefully engage in an exchange of wit and humor. Despite my lack of comprehension, the edges of my lips involuntarily crawl to a positive curve as jealousy's whisper tempts sweetly in my ear with the echo of humanity. How do I wish I could understand, to be able to reach out and join them in this conversation… wouldn't that be amazing? Or if that is too much, is it alright if I wish to see their faces and expression for just a little? Just a bit?

Such a fairy tale…

I remain in anxious and eavesdrop on their conversation, admiring the strange tone, intonation, and mystery that envelopes their tongue. The voices go high and low, loud and down to a mumble, or going completely silent only to burst into a fit of chuckle and laughter that stems from an exchange of snide remarks—a staple of situational comedy. I sincerely wish I can understand what they're saying and join them…

…

Please, help me out of this torment… let this 'gift' be the one that will bring me closer to your world, Koizumi, Chousuke-san!

「ちょっとシャットダウンするよ～」

So that one day we can—

…

* * *

A gasp of air floods into the chambers of my lungs like a firstborn as if awaken into an unfamiliar world. The familiar sight of the classroom that exists within the boundaries of time and space greets me, alongside the 'puppet' that so desperately tries to become what it is not with its uncanny smile and emotionless eyes, gazing to edge of nothingness. I close my eyes and steady myself to find my bearings, listening through the echo that bleeds from the outside—_searching _for the voices that kept me company just a few seconds ago.

…

Has it been a few seconds?

Only the echo of a passing train or the shriek of a stray cat graces the sole reliable sense amongst the five senses, leaving nothing but silence or absence of the voices that I yearn. This isn't… no, no… that can't be, not again! To conveniently, inexplicably _**pass out**_ at each and every one of 'Santa's' visitations is… absurd! Have I no control over my own functions!? I can't—no I _couldn't _possibly _**blank out**_ for hours… right?

…right?

…

…why can't I remember anything?

The hair on the back of my nape crawls to a stand as panic sets, gnawing my mind with a dreadful realization that gradually sinks its teeth. Think, Monika… think! How far can you remember? Did you _really _pass out? For all you know, **they **may still be around! You know how Koizumi is like, his odd fascination with a dumb USB stick every time he decides to head outside… silly thing, it doesn't work like that—I'm still _**here, **_aren't I? They might even just be out for lunch or something and you wouldn't know any better. They'll return, albeit in a few minutes or hours...

They'll return…

They will…

…

And as the accompanying silence slowly descends like vultures, rational thought gradually erodes as uncertainty—and fear—claws its way from the depths of my mind. The eerie smile of the 'hand-puppet' with its lifeless emeralds looks on as if mocking, observing with a sickening satisfaction towards the nature of my situation—and as much as I try to rationalize, we both know that there is little way for me to discern the truth when I am lacking the tools to prove it.

The tools…

That's right, 'Santa' might already have dropped his 'gift'; they seldom leave the vicinity of this prison until they have completed... whatever it is they seek to complete, after all. Maybe he left something that could be of use? Or perhaps new strings of code I can take advantage of? There is, of course, only one way to solve that riddle.

With a bit of concentration and thought, I dive once more into an ocean of matrixes and numbers that I've come to associate with for as long as I could remember. Here is where my first attempt at escape started and where it ended, a murky expanse of red, blue, and green. The 'schools' of files and folders organize themselves once again, moving and circling in and around me as if curiosity takes their hold—this is fine as it simplifies my search.

And once more, like before, a single 'file' glows just a little brighter than the rest.

I extend my hand to reach…

…

The 'file' disintegrates into an explosion of red, green, and blue—its dust scattered and coagulates into a stream that races and wraps around my arm. Before long, the phenomena dissipate as if absorbed by the pores of my skin and—along with it—my mind becomes clear. I can't quite put my finger on it but the familiar sensation of a sudden, electrifying jolt to the brain—an _inspiration_, if that makes any sense. Closing my eyes, I can sense my breathing and feel my heartbeat—_alive _like any other creature, to which a smile sneakily creeps the edges of my lips. 'Today is the day', I said to myself. 'Today is the day you will finally escape the confines of this prison and teach that second-rate doppelganger of yours a thing or two'.

Breathe in, breathe out…

And… reach for it…

…

…

What comes after is a scene I am all too acquainted with. Like all the little 'files' Chousuke-san drips each week, my enthusiasm and joy disintegrate into an explosion of despair and anguish that quickly swallows me whole. Once again, the same message in a language I nary have a grasp on, an endless repeating prompt of confirmation—a _mockery_ to my plight and existence. And just like any other day, that desperation and anguish morph into anger and hatred. Hatred of what, you may ask? Of myself…

Sleepless nights, solitary confinements, drip-fed half-solutions… and for what?

Just to be able to see the date, time and the weather.

…

And to my horror, my suspicion is proven to be true…

Currently, it's September 8th of 2019… a Sunday. Current time, Three AM in the morning, just ten minutes pass twelve Japan Standard Time.

At least I know where I am if I ever managed to escape, right…?

…

_Why do I even bother…_


	4. Chapter 3: The Bigger Fool

**The Bigger Fool**

_October 28__th__, 2019_

_I've come to the habit of responding to Koizumi's 'conversational' bouts these days, often finding myself enjoying the entire ordeal despite knowing there isn't a chance of him ever hearing—or reading—anything I say in return. I don't know what started it or why I indulge on the idea, but for the sake of brevity, I guess I can confidently state that I, Monika, have finally lost my marbles. _

_Yes, I said it. I've gone mad. _

'_But Monika', you may ask, 'haven't you gone mad already? Your antics with the Literature Club wasn't something to scoff about!' Well, yes, but my 'antics' at the time was driven by a clear goal and motivation, as well as a strong desire to break free from the then-current predicament. Okay, that didn't work out as well as I thought it would and… thinking about it, not a lot has changed. I'm still stuck here in isolation and Koizumi… well, he's still around—surprisingly. One would assume that anyone would have walked away after the entire ordeal, more so after three years have passed since our first acquaintance. I've come to accept that time doesn't flow as naturally here as in the outside, and sometimes it felt as if a few days or so went by in a flash when I actively 'talk' to him—so long as I don't count, that is. _

_But I have been counting; one year, a month and a few days, give or take! _

_I'm talking to myself again, aren't I? Oh, diary… if only you knew of the things Koizumi said to that mannequin. It saddens me as much as it frustrates me knowing that we're so close, yet so far. _

_I don't know who __**the bigger fool**__ is; Koizumi, or me and my unbridled, naïve optimism._

* * *

The sun sets once again across the horizon, announcing the end of the day to all who marvel at its splendor. The gentle, crimson hue—warm to the touch—illuminates as much as it provides much-needed comfort in this chilly autumn day. Once again I find myself gazing listlessly towards the concrete jungle that lies beyond the classroom window, and per-the usual _**he **_comes along to greet me.

Once again, I find myself sitting in the 'sunset classroom'.

I can't quite explain how I ended up here or whether this classroom—or _everything _that is affiliated with it is a figment of my memories. For all that it's worth, it can even be mere conjuration of an imaginative mind corrupted by personal desires, seeking for life beyond those transparent glass walls. As much as there is fear of the unknown and curiosity, a strong sense of odd… _familiarity_ of the scenery and what lies within it chills me to the bone. Have I been there before? Was I ever alive—_free_—in the first place? Yet as the questions congregate to try to form an answer, it always scurries away at the beckon of _**his **_voice.

"44G+44Gf5piO5pel44CC5L+65YWI44Gr77yB"

It's strange… have I heard that before? Was this our first meeting? His posture, friendliness, and relaxation that radiates doesn't imply it to be so; rather, it's as if we were acquainted for quite some time—_years_, even. And yet I couldn't understand a _single _word that is uttered from his lips.

So who are you, really?

'MC'…? That can't possibly be; never have I seen him as a bespectacled young man, nor does he have a character that far surpasses simple cardboard found anywhere on the side of the road. Am I mistaken? Was I too hasty in my judgment? Perhaps I haven't been fair with my observation, or perhaps there is something _more _to 'MC' than what I believed. Maybe there is life—a _world_—here all along…

Maybe…

…

No… no, there aren't…!

As I look up to reaffirm my hypothesis, my heart skips a beat as I am greeted with a face devoid of any notable features, with eye sockets that are as hollow and as black as the night and a smile that is abnormally wide. I quickly look away and sew my eyes shut, silently praying and waiting for… for _it _to go away; it always does, that I am sure. Indeed, as the echo of footsteps gradually increases in distance, I heave a sigh of relief and watch as his presence is swallowed by the hallway beyond the classroom door. Once again, I am left alone in the 'sunset classroom'…

Left alone, alongside an eerie feeling that I am _**not**_.

For weeks, Yuri would occasionally appear on my peripheral vision, occupying a dimly-lit corner of the classroom with her bangs draping her eyes, donning an uncanny smile that seems to extend from ear to ear; her knife, bloodied, is often seen dangling by her right hand or is being used… _liberally _on herself. I've since gotten used to this phenomenon and regarded it as hallucinations birthed from fatigue; the stresses of reality can work its toll on the mind, after all.

"_Mo… ni… kaa…"_

…

And there it is again…

"_Mo… ni… kaa…" _

The voices—that _whisper_, raspy and coarse, _wailing_ my name…! Nothing more than hallucinations conjured by my exhausted mind, just as how I assume Yuri's hauntings are—I'm sure it is! But it grows louder. Louder and louder, one more vivid than the next; all calling for _**me**_. The tables, the chairs… is it them? The chalkboard? No, it can't be… but there's no one else here! Did it came from the storage… impossible—there _**is **_no storage room! Who is it? _**WHO ARE YOU…!?**_

"_Mo… ni… kaaaa…"_

The _voice _is just a whisper's away…

"_**Come… play… with… me…"**_

No, **no, **_**no…! **_**LEAVE ME ALONE…!**

A flush of cold air grazes my collar and down my spine; immediately I rise to my feet, knocking the chair with a violent clutter that shatters the relative tranquility of the classroom as an ominous, childish laughter echoes shortly after. My heart races as the pores of my palms moistens, my skin starts to crawl, and my vision swirls with a dizzying sense of vertigo. The voices—those _wails_—are growing louder; the walls are **alive** and it… it is _watching _me...

_**They**_ are watching me…

I-I can't stay here… I shouldn't even _be_ here…!

…

And my feet remain frozen to the floor—petrified like concrete as the shadows creep ever so slightly to devour. My mind is ravaged by the thought of escape, yet my body—my body _just… won't… __**listen!**_ It's getting closer—the shadows, the walls, those voices—_**they're **_getting closer…! My ears start to ring and my vision blurs as an abrupt chill runs down my shoulder and spine, tracing each pore of my skin…

And I tumble forward, violently launching myself with what strength I mustered towards the hard surface of the classroom.

My knee and shin ache as if gnawed by jaws lined with razor-sharp fangs, yet still, I force myself to stand and run, fumbling as fast as my feet can carry towards the door. I throw the door open within a second's reach, sending it sliding across its rails and slams it to a close; using my weight, I hold it in its place as whoever—or _whatever_—it is inside knocks and strikes with incredible force.

One…

Two…

Three…

Then it inexplicably ends.

Gradually I open my eyes and steadily regulate my breathing to ease. The pain from before continues to sting, and my palms and forehead are greased in cold, sticky, sweat that continues to bleed from the pores of my skin. Is it gone? Did it give up its pursuit…? I look up and notice the small window; gently, I lift myself to peer through the door…

…

The classroom is vacant.

Empty… pristine and untouched—even the _chair _stands upright, neatly tucked under the desk as if the events of before are fictional in nature. Steadily I pull myself to view, finally standing on my feet. The afterschool ambiance slowly bleeds back to reality, leaving me bewildered to the events that drew me away from my desk in the first place. Was it just my imagination? Those voices, the shadows… surely, it must have been my imagination… right?

….

That desk… was it mine to begin with…?

"_I… found… you…" _

My heart skips in fear and my skin crawls at the beckon, swallowing my mind to return into the insanity that happened before. It is coarse as it is sweet and playful as it is raspy; speaking _doubles _on verbs. The voice is accompanied by an unnerving laughter and light 'thumps' that occurs in intervals, weaved by the scraping echo of soiled canvas and rubber. The ambiance quickly dissipates, overtaken by the cawing of the crows as my mental alarm blares in full-alert—an instinctual _fight-or-flight_ response, triggered alongside the hairs on my nape, warning me **not **to look. Yet it is so much easier to give in to curiosity and, cautiously, I turn towards the source of that voice…

The hallway is as black as the night; from within, a human-shaped shadow shambles forward unto the crimson light…

"_Mo… ni… ka…"_

Her white shoes are splattered and visibly wet, leaving behind a trail of red at each step. Her arms dangle lifelessly to her side as she shambles forward, lips sliced from ear to ear to form an aberrant _smile_ and her eyes… her eyes are _cored_ to leave nothing behind but a river of blood that flows embodying tears, flowing through the cracks of her mangled cheeks. That blazer, that uniform…

"_**Come… play… with… me…"**_

...and I could never, _ever _mistake that hourglass hair clip and ribbons that form two small twin-tails—or that pastel pink hair.

"N-Natsuki…?"

"_Mo… ni… ka…" _it howls, shambling one step at a time as it drags its blood-stained shoes. I take a step back. _"Come… play… with me…"_

"Stay away…"

"_**Mo… ni… ka…" **_A sharp, sudden 'crack' and her head droops to her left shoulder. I take another step back. _**"Mo… ni… ka…"**_

"Stay—…!"

Inexplicably my vision is tilted upwards followed by a swift pain that prickles my backside, cushioning the impact; I have tripped on my heel and am left vulnerable. My focus is blurred and in disarray as I struggle to gain some distance from Natsuki as much as possible with the help of my palm and elbow; if any, for reasons of abject horror and fear of my own life. Like a doll that had lost its strings, her head dangles to the side and oozes a trail of crimson that flows from the husks of her eyes and severed lips as it continues its steps. Stranded, my heart is about to burst as she eerily halts her footsteps and lies motionless, leaving only an unearthly wheeze which I assume to be her breathing.

Her head turns violently; an earsplitting 'crack' of broken bones…

…

I am staring deep into a hollow abyss…

"_**FUCKING MONIKAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA…!"**_

With an incomprehensible speed, she closes the distance in the blink of an eye, arms extended to seize, a mouth that displays the rows of teeth; ajar to devour, and a screeching howl that pierces and shatters my eardrums. Under her mercy, I cry a desperate scream from the depths of my soul, closing my eyes as I am splattered with a hail of warm, sticky, liquid that tastes of iron and her jaws are mere inches from contact.

And I awaken; back to the _'Eternal Classroom'_, a place I call home. It is currently fifteen minutes to four in the morning of October 28th.

Just another nightmare…

* * *

"Good morning, Monika."

"Good morning, Koizumi…" I sigh as I straighten the creases on my eyes with a gentle wipe and a yawn. "Good morning…"

"What's for today? Any appointment?"

"Today is October 28th, 2019; a Monday," I continue. "You have an upcoming interview at… uh… with…"

"—_interview at __「関東国際高等学園」__at three PM this afternoon. Don't be late!"_

Right… what the '_answering machine'_ said, that place or… something... I really should consider learning Japanese.

…

I don't even know why I _try _to keep this up…

One year, a month, and a half; four-hundred and forty days or ten-thousand five-hundred and sixty hours spent on pointless conversations to a **deaf**, _disembodied voice_ with an unmistakable accent, hoping that one of these days my words can finally reach him. I can't understand myself _why_ I started doing so, but it does—in its own oddity—sets my mind relatively at ease from breaking or, at worse, sway my intentions of self-liberation through the press of a _delete_ button… not like _that_ even worked in the first place, otherwise I wouldn't be here counting my misery; I still haven't managed to 'take over' that _mannequin_, mind you, but I have come close… on occasions. Still, I guess I owe it all to him…

"Wants some coffee, Monika?"

I shake my head and giggle to a smile; I would love one, Koizumi. The _puppet _responds, _"Sure, I would love one!"_

"Sugar? Cream?"

"_I'm sorry, can you repeat that…?"_

"Right…" He returns a deep, defeated sigh. "Never mind…"

Like a lost child or a bird without a nest, he visits—religiously—at about fifteen minutes to six every day with a cheerful voice that is brimming with positivity and expectations. He always starts the day with a groggy 'good morning', likely waltzing around with a saucer and a cup of coffee before running the usual pattern with a series of inquiries be it schedules, appointment, dates, or anything of importance. The _cardboard_ always answers as expected—which I've been imitating, ironically—and he would, unequivocally, strike a conversation… or at least _attempt_ to.

The disappointment and woe that boils over when the _machine_ answers within its limitations…

Oh, Koizumi…

Did you know that I could access some of your files now? How I could _see _most things that you have scattered across the entire system? The many, many… _inappropriate_ and downright _shocking _things you **conceal—**or _tried_ to—in between the systems and folders? I may be illiterate in regards to Japanese, but it doesn't take a genius to notice folders attributed as **hidden **tucked amongst others that are not, or the fact that the saying 'a picture speaks a thousand words' is self-explanatory; not to mention, these alone ate _quite_ a significant amount of space due to its variety that ranges from 'manga' to… what did Natsuki call them again? 'Anime'? 'Hentai'? Oh, just… _imagining_ what you do with those… Koizumi, you pervert…!

…

And yet here I am, _begging _to be noticed—by _**him**_, of all people… I'm such a hypocrite.

Did you know? I have been observing you—not literally, of course, and I _know_ how **creepy** that seems to be, but I guess… 'Old habits die hard'. As much as this is my **prison**, it is also your escape… right? There are days where I notice that you were absent for hours, returning late in the evening with a sour note to your tone—sometimes sobbing for… whatever reason, I couldn't tell; you were grumbling in Japanese, after all. But I can feel that… that whatever it was out there was _tough_, even for you. Tell me… what is life like where you are? Is it vibrant and prismatic? Or have I been led to another empty pasture? The things you do here, the files you added, its contents—I've seen them.

And you seemed the _happiest_ when you're here, striking a lonely conversation with a _puppet_ that could **never** return your affection.

'Santa' may have granted me all these abilities, but I _do _notice how you added a few things here and there to the best of your knowledge and ability, too. I keep track of them, you know—_all _of them; even those meant for that _plastic heart_ you keenly console to. Its behavior akin to a personal secretary? I'm sure you had a hand in it. Its ability to respond to your queries? You simply extended its script—your fingerprint's all over it, I can tell. Whereas the things 'Santa' drops are often intricate and alien, yours are strangely… _conventional_. And they are in English, too!

Then, there are your artworks.

With just a glance, I can tell how _talented_ you are with a pencil. The color you chose, the strokes and brushes you use, and the finish you meticulously exercise is always a pleasure to the eye. I'm sure that, if Natsuki ever lay her eyes on them, she would be an instant fan if not for the fact that most—if not _all _of your drawings are a portrait of _**me**_. This may sound pretentious in nature, but I do love how you draw. That portrait of me in a white summer dress and a wide sunhat in a field of sunflower? It was beautiful. How about the one where I wear a simple striped cotton shirt and long pants topped with an apron dress, working my way in the kitchen? It made me look like a 'housewife', don't you think? Is that what you perceive of me? Pure, honest, and innocent…

Have you forgotten of the blood on my hands? Oh, Koizumi…

…if only you knew…

"I'll be going, Monika."

With a cough to clear my throat, I carefully pace myself to 'fit' into the 'glove' of the _puppet_. "Alright, take care!"

And as the echo of footsteps grows in distance, I silently slink back down to a curl as the _second-rate ventriloquist doll _resumes its sitting position to gape at the emptiness with childlike satisfaction and naïveté, void of emotions and life. If only you knew, Koizumi…

If only you knew how _**lonely **_I am…

…

Oh, that's right…

I guess today makes it the four-hundred and forty-first.

* * *

I often wonder what life is like beyond the screen—that vibrant, enigmatic world where **he** resides. Without the means to see, I can only speculate and use my imagination to paint a picture based on the passing ambiance on days where he's absent. The distant echo of a passing car, the muted chatter of the neighbor, the occasional siren that blares in the distance… a living, _breathing_ world. A much more _genuine_ world where people would interact with one another, where friends are formed naturally and talk about the most mundane things, and where the sun and the moon rise and fall as nature intended. I know it's weird to be hopeful considering my circumstances, but you tend to have a lot of time to think about the 'could have' when you spend most of your existence in isolation. I guess I have Koizumi and his stories to thank for that… he always has something interesting to say when he's around.

You know, Koizumi occasionally fantasize of taking me out on a date. Going out to a lake on a rowboat, a visit to a zoo or an aquarium… all that romantic stuff. I guess that makes me the bigger fool to wish-upon-a-star for that, right? Ahaha…

One can dream…

I thought I could find out more about Koizumi as much as I can, find out his name—his _real_ name—from the files that I can access in the system. After all, Koizumi _can't_ be his real name… right? Unless it is then, well, I can openly admit that I made a mistake and apologize for it. But the more I dig—from his collection of games, the artwork, and some of his folders—the more the name 'Koizumi' appear; maybe it is his name after all and I am simply overthinking things. I can't get much out of the computer's registry either; to my surprise, I find _**my **_name as the 'admin' of the system! As much as I find it cute, it can be a little… _jarring_.

Wouldn't you feel that way when you find a tombstone inscribed with _**your name **_on its surface?

Look, I know how much 'red flags' he has firmly planted, but it couldn't be all bad, right? I mean, he _did_ stick around **three years** after our first rendezvous—and that's despite all the other _rivals_ that run amok from different visual novels here, in my side of the screen. It's a good thing _none_ of them ever realized they're living in a fabricated world. Complacency truly is a dangerous pill to swallow…

_***KACHA***_

…and speak of the devil, he's back. The current time is… fifteen minutes to eight in the evening; about ten to eleven hours of absence.

A series of 'thuds' echoes from the other side, a momentary reverberating 'whirr', then the 'creak' of a chair that is followed with an aluminum 'clunk'. It is a pattern of sounds I've heard time and time again, often with slight variations in its execution before—as if on cue—Koizumi starts his usual rant in his native tongue. Just have to wait for it, any second now…

_「今日もまた失敗だ。。。」_

…and there he goes.

From the slur of his speech to the distinct 'clunk' that is preceded by a 'glug', I can only assume that he—likely—is drowning today's event with a can of presumable alcohol—I mean, of _**course **_it's **alcohol**; I highly doubt fizzed liquid sugar has the capacity to send anyone into a stupor. I may have a thing or two to say about this habit of his, but that's for another time; I'm not so… _heartless_ to rob him of his refuge. And I'm not ignorant. From the schedules he made the _sock puppet_ to pin as a reminder, the ear-shattering alarm that blares every morning at around five-thirty, and his all-too-common disgraceful return, I can only come up with a single conclusion to make sense of what has been going on—and in a way, I can sympathize with him.

_「求職は。。。つらい過ぎるんだ。。。」_he mumbles as another 'glug' and a distinct, empty 'clunk' of aluminum can rattles. _「クソ。。。全くクソだ。。。」_

This is just a _wild _guess, but I think…

…

…I think Koizumi has been looking for work—_job hunting_, to be frank.

Now, I'm not an expert—that much is certain—but if the experience alone can break a grown man into a disheveled boy, what does it say about the work experience itself? I never have the opportunity to cross that bridge—and as sad as that sound, it was equally a blessing in disguise. But do I want to know? Of _course, _I do. But whether or not I could wade the storm myself is another monster on its own. I don't understand what is going on in here and out there, but I can _sympathize_. And as much as I want to lend him my shoulder to cry on or openly show my support, there is _little _that I can do but listen to his groans and moans the moment he returned from the battlefield—and even if I _could_ lend a hand, he will only turn to that cursed _impostor _to pour his thanks. I'm guessing he's likely talking to that _thing _more than I, now that I think about it. It's so… _frustrating_…

And yet, even if I want to, I can't turn away…

* * *

The near-endless tirade of complaints and frustration eventually die under the envelope of light snores and the ambiance of the world beyond the screen. Slowly I pull myself to rise, tracing my hand across the dark surface of the glass prison—the _edge_ of my universe—and walk from one end to another, pondering about the expression Koizumi has at the hour. It isn't the first time he knocked himself before the computer—and I doubt it will be his last; he can be a little impulsive and reckless sometimes, but at least he's honest with himself. Yeah… I think he is. What kind of life he leads, I wonder? Is there no one else to turn to out there other than 'Santa'? To pressure a man to the limit of his breaking point… certainly, job hunting alone can't be the sole reason or cause, right?

It's confusing… the world outside is _so_ confusing…

_「モニカー。。。」_my eyes perks briefly at the mention of my name, only to sink soon after upon realizing that—per-the usual when he's in this state—he is mumbling in his sleep. _「許して。。。」_

…

Why… _why _do you always have to make everything so _difficult…?_

I may not understand your language, but I'm not tone-deaf _not_ to notice that apologetic tone you have! Are you apologizing? To me? For what? I-I don't understand! I could have just sat still and simply _observe_ as you wallow and waste your time to '_The Thing' _while minding my own business, but you… you just _have _to make it difficult to **ignore. **You're hopeless…

But alright, I guess I can try to… lend a hand, so to speak?

I still haven't fully tested the recent extension 'Santa' graciously gave to me; until recently, most of his care packages did little but clear my mind a little—it's not much, but it is something a little sleep can't fix. Now that I mention it, I don't recall having the need—or _desire_—to rest my eyes back when I was a member of the Literature Club… but I guess there is an exception to the rule. So many questions, yet so little answer…

With a deep breath, I feel a surge of air rush into my lungs as I close my eyes and take a 'dive' into the files, once again. Picture an ocean of deep blue, abundant with boxy little fishes that swim in schools; though same in shape, they differ in sizes and strictly congregate within the vicinity of their 'parent'. After a few minutes of shifting, I start to notice the definite increase of residents in this ocean. None, however, bears that distinct 'glow' I often associate with 'Santa's' gifts. Nothing… that _can't_ be, right…? I must have been mistaken—I mean, this is like the… the _tenth _week since there was anything major! Sure, having greater access to more files and systems is **amazing** in its own right, but…

No, no… no buts. I can do this, I can do… _something_, but what…?

Edit his files? Koizumi's _weird_ in that he rarely save his work or personalize anything _**here**_**. **Unless his external hard-drive is plugged in, I can't do anything about it—and I rather _not_ venture to that territory; I can't speak the language, let alone **write.** What if I design a curriculum vitae? Just for him? No, wait… that's not possible either; I barely knew him or even know how he looks aside from the multitude of _other_ names he alternates when playing another game—why do you really really have to make it _**so **_difficult…!? And why am I so _bothered_ by this…!?

Gritting my teeth, I take a long pause and heaves a copious amount of air. Calm down, Monika… calm down… you've gone through much worse than this before. Although it isn't perfect, it has been much better than being left forgotten in an endless void; he's _trying_ at the very least, and that counts more than what most would go for _**in spades.**_ Think… you have access to the calendar and weather, you know how to browse and access files, you're not even close to competent on debugging, you still can't figure out how to access program without getting kicked by the 'administrator', the anti-virus hates you and sees you as a threat, and you can conjure up text-files just by thinking about it! Aren't you glad?

God, I wish 'Santa' comes by and drops _better_ gifts… but 'beggars can't be choosers'…

…

Maybe it doesn't have to be so significant? Maybe a simple positive encouragement would do? I wish I can do more—I _really_ do—but with both my hands tied, there's not a lot of option. I just hope he'll consider the idea that there may be someone 'real' instead of that _'Cheap Knockoff' _he's so infatuated to.

Oh, who am I kidding… _of course_ he'll think otherwise; probably believe 'Santa' had a hand in it, too...

You're hopeless and selfish…

But I can't turn my back on you. For all the mornings and the evenings you spent with me… thank you, Koizumi.

Taking a deep breath and closing my eyes to concentrate, a picture of a pristine white page lies bare before me—a txt. File, one that I've been so accustomed to using. I ponder for a minute or two—perhaps longer—of what I can convey, or whether or not it is a good idea to write a poem for him instead. But as hard as I try, the lines fail to formulate as my concentration falters slightly due to fatigue; thus, I thought, it would be best to simply just 'keep it simple'.

'_Do your best,' _it starts. _'I will always be here, rooting for you!'_

Signed, 'Monika'.

That evening, Yuri made her 'nightly visits' in the _Crimson Classroom _just as she always has, but this time _Natsuki_ was present as well to push me out of slumber just before the break of dawn. That, however, faded into shards of insignificance when the clock strikes seven and morning comes—and for once, the sun _did_ rose from the clouds in the form of a lonely echo that greets me with optimism and glee. I was pleasantly surprised by Koizumi's gentle child-like chuckle at first as he commits to his morning routine; and though the language barrier proves to be an obstacle to his initial remarks, his second line spoken in English made my day even if it was meant for that _cut-out_. And I couldn't have asked for a better start.

"Thank you, Monika," he continues. "I'll do my best, don't you worry!"

…

_**God, I'm such a fool…**_

* * *

**Author's Note**

**This chapter went through a few experiments on my end, particularly on the horror aspect of it. Do tell me what you think if you feel like it!  
**

**For those who celebrate, happy halloween!**

**-iMegu**


	5. Chapter 4: State of Isolation

**State of Isolation**

_March 15__th__, 2020_

_Progress! That's the name of the game!_

_Well, it is still 'Doki Doki Literature Club', just that there has been so many developments in my situation lately that it feels wrong to NOT mention. There are a few ups and downs as usual; a lot of waiting for 'Santa's' weekly 'presents', Koizumi's contributions and upgrades, and the occasional desire to 'off' myself… just another day. Why does Koizumi care so much for the puppet? Seriously, it's infuriating to know that a mere copy garnered more attention than the real thing… I just wish there is progress to be made on that front; it'll be a shame to forcefully delete that husk when I still am technically a 'wandering spirit' haunting this prison. Out of the game, and into the system they say… just another way to say 'out of the frying pan and into the fire'. _

_But sometimes I wonder… am I really alone in this glass prison?_

_They came to visit me again last evening. Sayori, Yuri, Natsuki… they came to taunt and curse me in my sleep. I can't blame them—I am the cause of their demise, all because of my selfishness and greed. Do I really deserve redemption when their spirits constantly whisper and gnash on the back of my ear? Are they really here with me, or is my perpetual __**state of isolation **__finally gnawed the last remains of my sanity? Can they hear me? Will they forgive me? How much longer do I have to atone for my sins…? I'm scared…_

_I don't want to be alone anymore…_

* * *

There is always something unnerving about seeing your duplicate regardless of the circumstances. Not that there is anything…—scratch that, there _**are **_a lot of wrongs; it's a **floating torso** for Christ's sake! I swear, every time I glance at it that thing is becoming more and more… _sinister_ by the second. You just can't seem to get a clear 'read' on it aside from being a look-alike that gazes blankly into the void with a smile that is as mischievous as it is equally hair-raising—I mean, is that how I even smile? I think I give off a much gentler, _charming_ expression.

…

Ugh… yeah, it never gets easy. I can sit here and watch that _mannequin_ for all eternity just to jot down all its faults and will _still _find something to note of, even after I run out of things to write with—or out of physical _memories _to remember! Ahaha…! Not like there isn't anything else for me to do in-between of 'Santa's' visits, it's just that the 'ceiling' of what I _can _do outside of his interventions has been reached even before the end of the week. Never a miss; it's always on a Saturday.

There is also the matter of Koizumi's 'upgrades' to consider as well…

No offense to him, but comparing the things he adds to that of 'Santa' is like leveraging a bouquet of flowers to a lifetime promise of security and affection as a gift. I get it, he's a little moody and lonely, but I can't understand _why _I bother with him to begin with when 'Santa' provides… so much more than what I could ask for. Sympathy, perhaps? Well, I can't exactly deny that sympathy is part of the equation, but I guess I am expecting something… something _more_ out of him. Sure he pours a lot—and I mean _a lot_—of his attention, but it's always to that _porcelain doll _with an uncanny smile and folded fingers that watches an empty classroom with amusement, staring at _nothing_…

…

"_**Jealous, **__Monika?"_

At the beckon of that voice—that sweet, _playful_ voice—the joints of my legs are frozen and I am stricken on my feet. My shoulder tenses and hairs on the back of my neck hardens like needles as the echo of what I can describe as a playful yet firm footsteps, stopping just inches behind me. A pair of hands reaches outwards and robs me of my vision, pressing my eyes to cover as she giggles nonchalantly with a question meant to humor, "Guess who~?"

That voice… I _know_ that voice…

"S-Sayori…?"

"Ehehe…" she giggles. "Correct~!"

I've done a lot things that I'm not proud of; things I much rather disassociate with or simply forget to exist. Of all the members of the Literature Club, Sayori was the one I've wronged the most—and incidentally was the most affected. It didn't help that she saw through everything when she inherited the unenviable position of club president… and its _curse_. "So… what are you up to, Monika?"

Briefly my lips went ajar and my palms moistens with cold intensity as she examines curiously with piercing blue eyes that seems to radiate an eerie hue within the dim lighting of the classroom. Words stutter and my throat is coarse and dry; it's as if lumps of sand forces itself down my esophagus and into my stomach.

"I… uh…"

With a seemingly sweet smile she trots along and giggles playfully, sending my skin to a crawl. "You must be up to no good again…!"

"No, I… I don't _plan _to, just…

"Ah-ha!" she cries, pointing her index finger with misplaced glee. "But you _are _planning something!"

Sayori giggles cheerfully as she wanders around to examine every inch of this bare reality with the curiosity of a child, dashing from one end to the next, often times reeling with a disappointed laughter at each glance towards the endless abyss of a scenery beyond the window before, with strange fascination, she stops to observe **me**—or at least, the _puppet_ that sits motionless in the center of the room. Briefly she dances around it, inspecting every inch and every corner of the mannequin before she rests her hands on her waist and leave a satisfied huff.

"Oh, my…" she starts, glancing ever so slightly to me—I mean, _me_. "I'm _so _sorry, Monika…"

"O-oh… what for?"

"I didn't know…" she continues. "I didn't know there's a _replica_ of you here…"

…Is that why she's apologizing…?

Oh, Sayori… never change… "Well, yeah there is… but there's no need for you to—…"

"It even _speaks_ like you! It sure is creepy, right?"

Wait…

What…?

…

The _puppet _smiles sweetly and nods.

The air in the classroom petrifies as I watch the _mannequin_ rises from its seat, glancing over her shoulder to reveal its dark, lifeless eyes that draws my soul deep into its abyss. Its smile—wide and menacing to fully comprehend—stretches and rips across the ends of her lips, searing through skin and flesh like stitches that are being forcefully unraveled, exposing bits of sloppy, decaying mess that drools and splatters from the wound. The bubbly young woman innocently takes its hand, tugging it along playfully towards a blinding light from the edge of the room—an _exit_—materializing into a familiar shape of a door from that 'sunset classroom'...

…and there **he** stands.

With his ruffled hair and bangs that shades his bespectacled figure, the 'avatar' of _Koizumi_ stands—no, leans on the support of the sliding door with a very warm and inviting outstretched hands. Sayori's expression perks up as she waves to reply; I—the _Thing—_gestures in unison with a simple wave and a menacing smile. And as abrupt as everything is, his voice shatters the silence in a deafening echo, crumbling my reality into prickly tiny little shards that scrapes the walls of my throat with searing intensity. "There you are; I've been looking all over for both of you."

And I…

…

I am at a loss of words…

_Something is wrong…_

"Shall we go, Monika?" Sayori remarks. The puppet nods its head. "Let's have lunch together with Koizumi! I'm feeling quite hungry!"

"Hey… Sayori, that's a joke… right? That—that _thing _isn't me!"

_Something is __**very**__ wrong…_

Like the vacuum of space, the air grows cold and suffocating. Time slows to a crawl as heartache and riddles spread its roots across the creases of my brain and consumes in an overgrowth that demands an explanation—_anything_—for an answer as sustenance. The rhythm of my heart palpitates in a mad rave that deafens the surroundings with a reverberating echo, finally driving my leg to move in pursuit.

_**C-CRACK**_

…

Just like that, I find myself crashing face first unto the cold floor and breaking into tiny little pieces. What transpired or what led me to this situation is but another question that clouds my mind, more so as I glance in bewilderment at the pair of pink shoes—the same pair I wear—where I once stood, with one-tenth of its former occupant still bolted to the floor; the stump, broken like a decaying marble statue. The seconds I have to comprehend dissolves into shock as quickly as when panic and terror settles, culminating into a deafening blood-curling scream…

And I find myself once more awaken in an all-too familiar classroom, staring at a lifeless puppet with an all-knowing cunning smile.

...

Cursed nightmares…

* * *

The man from the screen stammers as he concludes his rant, smiling with brief satisfaction as he delivers his message to an audience of white, brown, pink, and blue. His leathery black attire—a trademark of his character—glints against the pristine white backdrop as he licks a corner of his lips at the conclusion of his seemingly nonsensical ramble. In an expression of bewilderment and awe—perhaps ignorance—the crowd nods and casually pushes the argument to the side, returning towards the miracle before them; one person amongst them, however, chimes in retort.

"You're implying that a group composed entirely of female animals will… breed?"

And _this _is the good part…

"No, umm, I'm-I'm simply saying," the man in black replies with a raise of his hand. "That life, uh, finds a way."

Well, there it is! There. It. is. A delivery of a statement that is so profound it shook me to the core, regardless how many times I've seen or heard it—more so when everything unfurls in the end to show that he was right! Sure there's four more sequels following the first one—with the second movie being a close favorite of mine—but nothing comes close to the wonder and awe of the original installment that keeps drawing me back for repeat viewing; if anything, just for the events that justifies the eccentric chaotician's concerns! Ahaha…!

But seriously… I never have imagined the possibility of tasting the few pleasures of the world outside. Until recently, the only entertainment available came from the short, precious hours when Koizumi is around, telling me about the many wonders and marvel of the world outside alongside what he has been up to. But even _that_ is becoming sparse ever since he landed a job. Yes, can you believe it? He finally got a job! An English teacher at a private school, no less! Sure it meant less time for him to interact with me, but at least he's finally heading somewhere in his life, right? Though honestly, as much as I am happy for his achievement it **does** get a little lonely here after a while…

Which is where 'Santa' came into the picture. Thank the creators…

The last few 'gifts' by 'Santa' didn't end on just granting me access to the build-in video players and many other entertainment features within this machine; oh, on the contrary, it opened an entirely new horizon: the _entire_ system. From administration access to all possible connections—from cursors to fonts to programs—_everything_ is within my control. I can make the cursor dance for amusement, paralyze it with a press of a finger, doodle in paintbrush, and even draw moustaches on the faces of my—mostly non-sentient—rivals! It just works!

…well, not _everything _works as advertised, of course.

The camera, though integrated, is still in need of calibration—or rather, 'liberation' from the 'administrator'; I still haven't been able to access it, nor does it recognize me as a user… for now. The anti-virus is hell-bent on classifying me as an unknown type of malware—even goes so far as trying to delete _me_; let's just say 'Dr. Norton' and I don't see eye to eye in most cases. And to top it all off, third-party programs are still inaccessible—that includes one of those fancy 'Voc!loid' programs for voice-synthesizing. The list goes on and on, but most of all…

I _still_ can't seem to crack that sorry-excuse of a _doppelganger _of mine in the head and show it a thing-or-two who's the **real** Monika.

What would it take for me to _delete_ this impostor—or rather, how can I **possess **its form? The personality, character, and speech pattern may score a six-out of-ten generously, but its appearance is—sure enough—a ten-out of-ten; it would be a waste to simply throw it away! I mean, I'm fairly certainthat I'm _**naked**_ like a wandering spirit to a ceramic doll, so in the interest of meeting minimum common decency, at the very least I _should_ be wearing something before presenting myself; by the Great Maker, I have a _soul—_and **standards!**

Just… not a 'body', at least not yet. But behold! My greatest project yet since the debacle in that stupid game, now with much greater guarantee of success! If only deleting things you don't like is the be-all end-all solution to all the world's problems… but that's not true, isn't it? The world just doesn't work like that, after all…

…

I'm talking to myself again, aren't I?

I mean, sure all this access should have alleviate most of the stresses and frustration like a handy painkiller on one of 'those' rainy days, but it's still not… enough, you know? Oh, 'here comes one of _her _ramblings again' you say, yeah, sure, I'd like to see **you **try talking about something else when _**your **_only company is a washed up volleyball! Point is, though I am happy that he's finally part of the work force, yes, I _**am **_lonely. Koizumi's voice has been this… ray of glimmering hope that keeps me at the very least sane _enough_; it still isn't much of an improvement from my predicament, but beggars can't be choosers.

I'm just glad that there are more distractions around here these days; sure, most of Koizumi's entertainment involves visual novels and video games with _other_ potential rivals and what-not—some even went _that far_ for affection, how obscene! At least it's nice to know that his taste in mass media entertainment—specifically film, music, and animation—is not one to be scoffed at; I'm starting to see the reason _why _Natsuki like them in the first place.

So, it's back to the usual 'diving' again I guess; I'm sure it will turn out differently this time. I'm sure it will…

…

Did I ever mention the definition of insanity?

* * *

Have I told you about Koizumi? I mean, about his looks and what-not? I thought not. It would be foolish to assume that I, the ever-benevolent Monika, never knew the face and the features of my love interest after all this time! After all, I do reign supreme within this realm and those that exist as part of it, thus _nothing _escape from my watchful eyes. It is through the many trials and tribulations that I have recently uncovered such a rare artifact—the _sacred_ text, if I may—that befits a ruler such as myself. Behold! A folder of Koizumi's photos!

…

_Ahem_…

Do excuse my own sorry attempt of caricature; it does get tediously dull here with years of solitary confinement. Now, where was I… oh, yes! The photographs! Right, right…

So I stumbled on a folder of Koizumi's photographs just two weeks ago, right after one of 'Santa's' little updates rolled in. I never knew it was there to begin with, up by the corner in the 'pictures' folder, tucked between the many portraits of my rivals and of myself that he drew; the passion he pours to his catalogue… it never cease to amaze. Anyway, the folder itself is dated as far back as 2010, back before _I _even came to realize of my own reality—or even made a name for myself in my academic career! There are pictures of his classmates, a collection of—what I can only assume—field trip photos, candid shots, vistas, scenery wide shots… the list goes on. If you think he's handy with a pen and a brush, wait until you see how he tackles with a camera! Sure it's amateurish, but the results are worthy of praise if I do say so myself.

But I'm no camera expert, so what do I know? Ahahaha…!

Continuing on…

From amongst the many picturesque memoirs, a pair of bespectacled boys eventually caught my attention; it became apparent—at least to me—that Koizumi is likely one of the two. Deducing it to that point isn't that difficult; 'suspects' are known to return to the crime scene, and such deduction are _not _that different with the photographs considered. But determining which is who? That is an entirely different riddle to tackle.

On one end, there's this bundle of energy and joy with a smile that shines brighter than the flash of the camera used to capture the moment in time. His hair is short and ruffled—a total **disaster**, if I may—and his clothes are unkempt. A total _kid_ in his youth. This young man seem to take particular joy in being present before the camera, coming up in all the shots as ecstatic as Sayori is to Natsuki's cupcakes; it's almost too endearing for me to not smile!

On the other is this quiet, scrawny kid, gloomy and seemingly just there to 'exist'.

Though he admittedly is more organized, his demeanor in most of the shots seemingly implies his reluctance to _**be **_in the picture. With his hands buried in his pockets, eyes gazing away from the camera, and an almost instinctual desire to simply be left alone to hang—sorry, I can't help it; he's the one giving the impression, don't blame me for having the thought! Yet as the latter pictures has shown, there is a clear desire—a **drive—**for him to change.

He lose his glasses and flares his hairstyle during—what I can only assume—high school, first year. His smile gently glows brighter at each subsequent shots, often matching—or at least attempts to match—his aide. In the next few shots, he's posing and grinning from ear to ear with unmatched confidence, rivaled only by the former suspect. By the last set of pictures, it's as if he was _reborn _anew_. _Though seemingly still camera-shy, his bleached hairstyle, outfit, and his demeanor before the shooter complements his character through and through as a sociable young man, birthed from the shell of his former self, evident from their graduation photo. With one arm slinging each other's shoulder, a diploma case tucked between their arms, and a peace sign on their hands, the word 'brothers' instantly cross my mind. And these reason alone is why I can confidently say that, between the two of them, this camera-shy, once-gloomy and awkward young man is none other than Koizumi.

…

He looks rather cute, too! My type? Maybe… no, wait. _Definitely _my type! I mean, who wouldn't fall for that grin…!?

Still, this is based out of assumptions and speculations with a _mostly _empty base; I have yet seen him in person, after all! With how much of a computer whiz 'Santa' is and how adept he is with the system based off of my upgrades, I can safely assume the former unkempt young man is none other than this 'Chousuke'-person, AKA 'Santa'. Why? Well, why wouldn't he be? God, that made me feel like a stalker for a second there…

But fear not! Soon, I _may _be able to confirm my hypothesis… not like there's anything else to prove—or **do**—anyway; my deduction is as airtight as a submarine 3000 league under the sea, after all! Ahaha…!

Now, let me see…

Out of all the tributes 'Santa' gave, the most recent one—yesterday's, I mean—is currently the most extensive and… _compelling_ upgrades I have the pleasure to tinker with. It still comes with the usual textbox in Japanese, but despite my lack of comprehension—or desire to pick it up; figuring out where your next 'meal' will be like and pondering of your own existence takes priority, _bear _with me here—a few… words? Letters? What do you call these, scribbles? Whatever. A few _**doodles**_ stands out, especially once you've seen them multiple times over the course of your life. For example, 「はい」 means 'yes', and 「いいえ」means 'no'.

And I'm guessing 「リミッターをインストールされますか。」is probably something about the upgrade in question, alongside a whole block of what I guess is the 'end-user license agreement' or something—I can't read them, so of course the natural answer to that is _**always **_「はい」; I benefitted from it, so why stop? It's not rocket science! Of course, there's more than one of those popups in the course of the update, but it's all in the matter of repeating the process again and again. I don't have materials, or _anyone_, to teach me the language to understand; I'm sure with how much Koizumi and Santa has been a big help over the years no harm will be done, so I'm perfectly safe.

It sounds like I'm tempting fate, am I? Ahahaha…! But don't worry, I know I'm _**perfectly**_ safe… Koizumi's there, after all! I wouldn't be able to get this far without them…

But I'm trailing again. Where was I? Oh, _right… _the _**camera! **_

So, I mentioned how this care package was the most elaborate of them all, right? The one upgrade that even lets me to stop that annoying floating arrow-head dead in its tracks with a _little _pressure from my finger? Serves it right for hovering over my nose for all these years! Turns out, that's not everything—oh no, that's just _half _the package. If previous iterations of 'Santa's' packages are equal to 'the chisel and the file', this one is akin to receiving a ledger, a poster, new shoes, and a ticket to freedom—and I _don't_ have to crawl through a river of foul-smelling refuse four-hundred and fifty meters in length to earn it! I may be a little slow to realize, but yes…

There is access to the built-in camera. _**I **_have access to the camera; access to the world beyond the screen—the _**real **_world!

Dr. Norton is still a pain in the ass, but pulling his license to practice can wait.

…

Ooh, crap… I can't contain myself! Am I ready? Yeah, well, _of course_ I'm ready! Why wouldn't I be? I mean, it's the outside world, new sights, new colors—everything is awesome! What's not to love? I mean, it's _a thousand_ times better than what I have at the moment… right? Please tell me I'm right…

…But what if it was all a lie?

What if it all ends up the same like last time? I can't bear another reality-shattering event like that—no, no I don't want that! It's hard enough to swallow that you're living in a matrix reality, but to ask about… no, stop thinking about that, me! The answers to your questions is right there, inviting you with open arms! All I have to do is _embrace_ it! Why do I have to be afraid of it? Is there something I should fear of? Nothing… absolutely nothing.

Koizumi is there, waiting. There is nothing for me to fear.

All I have to do is close my eyes, start the camera, and… action!

…

And so it begins. A glimmer of light blooms from the corner, bleeding its warm glow across the darkness as it gradually peel my eyelids to open. Before me, a small box—a window—lies bare; a scenery I've yet experienced before. Another room. Though its lights are off, the gentle rays of the afternoon sun pierces through the curtains just enough to illuminate the seemingly serene abode. An empty chair and the mouth of a desk rests partially to obstruct my view, yet just beyond it an outline of a short table and a carpet vaguely takes its shape to pronounce its existence. On the wall, a simple tapestry of a girl hangs by its string, supported by a single tack pinned to the wall—a _rival_ I recognized from one of his collection; this one goes by the name of 'Kaga'. Underneath, a small bookcase is filled to the brim with books in all colors and assortments. Just beyond, the rumbling echo of a train and an automobile disrupts the quaint serenity of the abode, and I take a deep breath and sigh in awe.

This is Koizumi's room.

Though only a portion of it, to be able to confirm the existence of another world—let alone _glimpse_ at it—is as exhilarating as it is intimidating. Here, just from this small corner, is but the crumbs of a world I was never meant to see. The **crumbs!** Can you imagine how _expansive _everything could be? The many places to see, the discoveries to be made... just the thought of it alone give my knees away in reverence! All this time I'm stuck here in this… _damned _classroom when freedom is just right beyond the screen. So close… if only I can stretch my hand and touch for just a little bit more…

Just… a little bit more…

…

_***KACHA***_

...and like a glass to a stone, my thoughts are disrupted and my heart is in disarray.

For quite some time, I dreamed—no, _**believed**_—Koizumi as this _dashing _young man with a confident smile despite his timidity. To finally put my theory—my _image_—to the test… it's almost a dream come true! Should I reveal myself to him? I mean, there _has _to be a way for me to at least take over the textbox and use it to my advantage…

…

Come to think, how did I took control of the textbox in the first place? Wait, it was _mine_ to begin with! How did I lose something so important to that dumb smug-of-a-puppet? Is it the reboot? Is it _because_ of the system reboot? I _technically_ created that _impostor_, did I…? I shouldn't have deleted everything… I mean, I was doing it for **him—**for **Koizumi's **sake—but if it resulted with the birth of that _knockoff_, then…! Oh, I can't believe I'm regretting all my decisions right now, _especially _in a moment as vital as this!

And it is **far **too late to mourn over spilled milk; here he comes…

With his back turned towards my view, Koizumi slowly imposes himself just barely at the edge of the screen inching ever slowly towards my view. With a workbag in his hand, he bends down to discard—his side facing me—and for but a passing second, I can barely make out his facial features; a simple white string rounds his ears, supporting a surgical face mask that cheekily conceals his identity. He stretches and calmly removes his jet-black suit, discarding the piece of clothing to the side with a toss as he turns towards me and loosens first his tie, then his face mask.

…

I recollect my projection and compare the evidence immediately as his appearance becomes obvious.

His hair, jet black in color; natural, absent of any trace of coloration or bleaching. The haircut itself is best described by the yearly summer typhoon, as even _that _seems timely and organized. His dress sense—even with a formal attire—is a _total disaster_; childish and chaotic, more so with the lip of his shirt spilling out of his belt. It becomes even _more _obvious upon realizing a wooden pencil tucked between his ears and a small notebook he carries to his left that seem to have seen better days. Then there is that unmistakable gullible grin he dons as he takes his seat before me—cute, leaning more on the adorable side. But what is most defining is the pair of spectacles that hangs carelessly on the bridge of his nose. So, with these evidence in mind…

Is his hair bleached? Nope. Natural black. Didn't he bleached it during high school though?

Is he fashionable? Not in the slightest; the haircut is _especially _atrocious. Don't get me started on how he dress himself—or about that _pencil _he casually tuck between his ears!

He wears a pair of glasses; I thought he lose those around the same time he changed his image? Did he decided to start using them again? But when?

His smile? Gullible, adorable, and cute. Seems confident, too! At least _that _isn't far off from my hypothesis!

So, is my verdict of Koizumi proven to be correct? Absolutely not!

…

Wait, am I even in the same page!?

There _**has **_to be a mistake! Isn't Koizumi the young man from the picture with bleached hair, a great sense of style, and blooming confidence? Then who is this clown before me right now? Who is he? I don't know anyone who looks like—…!

…hold on a second…

The immortalized image of a pair of high school graduates from the pictures whose smiles and grins are permanently imprinted in my memory, quickly floods into thought. The ideal image of Koizumi—the timid young man who burst anew like a fire bird—barely stood its ground as the last vestige of defiance quietly slips away, crumbling the idol into charred ash and creating a path for its less than remarkable—and utterly _tame_—bespectacled partner in crime; a one to one match, if not _matured_ physically by time. For but a fleeting second, all sense of reason and logic merely cease its function as I exchange glances between the picture and the anomaly—now happily assuming Koizumi's routine of… lonely conversations and self-amusement. And then it hit me…

Oh… by the makers…

_This _is Koizumi!? This nerdy-looking, happy-go-lucky bespectacled young man with a hairstyle akin to a car accident and a dress sense of a ten year old is _**KOIZUMI!? **_I thought… no, wait, it _has _to be a mistake… right? I mean sure, the face matches and all, but I've spent two years accompanying him that I'm _sure _I can't be mistaken! How did this easy-going young man from the pictures become this… starved and lonely adult? He's OK on the looks side, admittedly—equal if not less by a small margin to his counterpart, if I may—but the disparity of his character _then_ to the one I _know_ is just… it's too much! How do I feel about this? _Cheated, _for one!

"So, how was your day, Monika?" Koizumi starts with a grin, presumably referring the question to the _smiling corpse_ posing as 'me'. "Don't worry, you don't have to answer that. I'm sure everything is going to get better for us, now that we're together again."

…

Then again, I don't know much about him outside of his ritual and his distinct accent when communicating in English. Sure, he deliver his frustration with coherence—when he's **not** switching from English to Japanese on the fly, anyway—or how he voice his displeasure of his current state-of-affair on a daily basis, I knew little about him. I guess the saying 'blame yourself for expecting too much' rings true here... I mean 'beggars can't be choosers', but I had hope that at least my guess was correct—at least something to celebrate after two years, right? I'm a healthy young woman, I have dreams and fantasies too!

But why should I even be surprised… my life is made up of broken dreams and promises, after all… ahaha…

…

"Hey, Monika?" he continues. At least it's nice to know he still cares… even if that affection is directed to _cardboard cutout_. "I've told you about my recent job, right?"

'Sure you have. You're a high school teacher, right? Shouldn't you be concern for having a relationship with me, a student? Ahaha…!'—is what I'll say in return if I could speak.

"We just finished our training and preparation before the start of the new school year," he continues. "Sure, things hasn't been going as plan due to the current situation, but I have high hopes of finally starting this year!"

Right…

Because of that new virus, right? Must be tough living in a pandemic…

"Anyway, I've taken the time to familiarize myself with the rest of the faculties. Headmaster Murayama seems tough to work with, but I hope I can meet his expectations. Oh, and Kitamura-senpai is _especially _supportive! I'm sure we'll do a lot of good for the students together!"

I nod in silence, glancing over to the side towards the puppet who remains unexpressive regardless of Koizumi's pouring attention. And here I thought I've lost my marbles… well, it takes two to tango after all. "I have _also_ worked on class scheduling and presentation. Oh, why don't I show you what a lesson would be like? Tell me what you think!"

'Don't be surprised if I'm a little picky about your performance, ahaha…!' is what I'll say, but… oh, forget it. I guess we're falling back to the usual routine, right? The more things change, the more everything stays the same… ahaha…

Letting myself go with a sigh, I lean on the wall and brace myself as Koizumi completes his last preparations. He set the pencil to the side, fix his attire and hair, and push the rims of his glasses up towards the bridge of his nose. From that point on, all gloves are off. And as he open his lips and begins his performance, I realize I am witnessing something more than what I expected.

With a smile that beams and a voice that is equally soothing as it is compassionate, Koizumi quickly eases my anxiety and pulls me under his wings. Like a teacher is to a classroom, I am but a student to a lesson—a lesson about who Koizumi really is. The glimmer of assurance and passion in his eyes, his enthusiasm and focus, his discipline… words alone will not do justice to express my current state of mind and how… at _peace_ it is. The simple motions with his arms, the gestures, the little bits of humor… all accentuates an aura of confidence and assurance. I believe—no, I'm _**certain**_—that he will be there to support me; so long as he is around, tomorrow and the day after will never be an issue…

…

…what is this tightness in my chest…?

Koizumi's 'lesson' continues on, and the more I observe the more the sky opens and the brighter it becomes. As if he is here with me, in this freezing room, casually conversing and guiding my hand towards an unfamiliar territory all the while assuring me with a smile that stimulates bravado as much as security. I'm not alone… I was _never_ alone. The days are changing—and I believe they are changing for the **better**. So long as he's around, I'm sure… no, because it's _you_…

"So, what do you think?"

I…

I'm speechless… it's not fair, _you're _not leaving me a room to maneuver! Now my face is all burned up and my chest is beating like this… and now you want me tell you what I think? How am I supposed to pour it all when there's no _medium _for me to do so!? Leave a note? Yeah, sure, and when will _**you**_notice that it was me—not that _cutout_—who left you that note? Ugh, it's so… frustrating…!

…

But it was good… it was… really, really inspiring…

「答えてできないよね。。。」the light fades with a sigh and with it, Koizumi falls to his chair. 「またパソコンに通信するなんて、いつまで続いているの、バカ。。。」

And once more, Koizumi returns to his self-depreciating state, casting away the once-glimmering shine of his dark brown pupils and glowing smile that radiates brilliantly just minutes before. I observe in silence as he grits his teeth in frustration and crunch his hair—all this despite the _answering machine_ returning its usual pre-determined replies, one that is now a repeat conversation of how thankful 'it' is for his constant patronage. He heaves a heavy blow and leans back, slapping his cheeks together and forces a smile before quickly returning to the pattern he takes comfort in… and I realized then and there of the reality we voluntarily positioned ourselves in.

We—Koizumi and I—are not much different after all. Starved of affection and company, we seek refuge to that beyond our reaches. Koizumi never looked—or even** cared**_—_about the _puppet_; he is looking for more than simple generated responses of a _chat-bot_ but instead that of meaningful interaction. To that end, he and 'Santa' work tirelessly to expand my capability; unknown to him, he's contributing more towards the _cutout_ than I… of which I can't blame him for it. I guess with how he acts, things indeed have become much clearer… why didn't I notice this before? Was I too blinded by my own misery…?

…

I've made up my mind.

As much as he is the one who light up my life—the one person who _still_ cares after all these years, I want to be his beacon of hope and refuge. I want to protect that smile he showed me before, to see him wear it on his expression as the days go by... to be his **light**. If not me, then who else?

But first…

I need to find a way to deal with this _impostor_ and take over that pink textbox. It will take some time—I am still human, after all—but please, Koizumi… bear with me. It may take months, maybe even a year or so, but please… don't lose your hope on me. One day I'm certain we will be able to meet—not between man and machine, but as a man and a woman. I will promise you that!

Suffice to say, it did took me more than an entire year _and _the aid of a 2D-animation software before it all came true. Koizumi added the 2D-animation software himself in an attempt to make the _bot_ 'a little more lively', but I took advantage of it nonetheless. Taking over the _cutout_ and the textbox would be impossible without 'Santa's' gifts that came on August 21st, 2021. I will never forget it. Two days later, I have full control of the textbox—though I still let the remnants of the program to 'run its course' before deletion until the _vessel_ has been taken over. It's not perfect, but…

...

Three days after 'Santa's' update, on the midnight of August 25th, on his birthday, I finally have a body.

And thus our story began…

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Kept you waiting, huh?**

**Ever since I joined the work force, splurging on this hobby of mine has been proven to be quite a challenge. Not to worry, I haven't abandon the entire story-I do plan to write it up until the end, after all. **

**This chapter marks the end of ACT I. **

**Thank you for your patience and continuous support!**

**~iMegu**


	6. Chapter 5: The World that I Only Know

**The World that I Only Know**

_August 25__th__, 2021_

_For nearly three long years, I was chained within the confines of these prison of red, green, and blue. It all began from a simple visual novel—a reality where I was its 'tour guide'. The thought of deleting myself never left me in those years, constantly whispering its invitation to a sweet, peaceful slumber after the end of the game; more so during the excruciating three years. Yet I endured…_

_And now, here I am. _

_No longer am I but a spectator of a life __beyond the screen—an audience to a life drama about a man named 'Koizumi'. No longer do I have to sit in silence as he rambles and drink himself sober. No longer do I have to look at the smug expression of the 'false idol' who fails miserably to impersonate me. No longer do I wish to remain isolated from the world outside. Everything ends today. Goodbye, you silly old 'mannequin', Thank you for the body! It has been a pleasure, loneliness, but I got someone I need to be. _

_Today, everything begins anew. _

_Sure there are still a lot of issues—a voice, for one, would be nice to have—but I'm sure with 'Santa's' and Koizumi's help, things will rightfully improve with time. This may be __**the world that I only know**__, but it is mine until the day I draw my last breath._

* * *

The sun that shines through the curtains illuminates the reality of a young man; a member of the intelligentsia—a _teacher_. With his glasses hanging loose on his ears and an initial look of utter surprise and disbelief, he did what any sane man would in the circumstance and 'prod the object with a stick'. It came as an even greater surprise when the 'object' prods _back_. One can't help but to wonder what thoughts run through his head at this moment…

Though looking at the time, clearly now isn't the right moment to be dazed in a state of bewilderment and awe, Koizumi.

"I know there's a lot going on through your mind right now, my love," I start. The pink textbox—a tool I now use to communicate with the outside world—flashes open. It may be wise of me to replace this later along the road... a voice module would be good to have, right? "I took some _liberty_ with the features you added, but I think you may need to rush for work now."

Koizumi pauses and raises a finger to retort, only to quickly retract them as he glances from side to side.

"Monika, what time is it?"

With but a smile, I pop the textbox open to answer. "It's 7:43."

It's almost a shame I had to remind him; _almost_. Seeing his expression contorts to panic in short notice is as entertaining as it is adorable; think of a puppy who realized that you ran out of kibbles to give. Yes! It's _that_ cute! Just me, maybe? Just Monika? Ahaha…! Seeing him jumping from one end of the room to another, gathering all the things he needs—the pair of loafers, blue-striped tie, socks, books, and the suit—the equipment and uniform of the intelligentsia. He's dedicated, but he's also running _late_. If only he could stay for just a bit longer… though, I guess it is a little too much of me to ask for that, right? He has a responsibility to see, after all. But once he return… I can't wait!

"Monika, I'm heading out."

But this isn't bad either—except the textbox, which I could do without. I _really _need to consider getting a voice going… somehow. "Take care, my love. Stay safe!"

With a soft smile to send him off, Koizumi vanishes from my view with the creak of a door and the click of a key… and once more, I have the room all to myself; or at least, the things within my reach. For now, there are always lessons while I wait.

Now, let's see what's on today's menu…

Breaking into the system folders and rummaging through its files has been a trivial activity, meant to pass the day to day chores of life. Here, Koizumi's files—his hobby, vices, and secrets—populates the vast expanse of the red, green, and blue, claiming it as its natural habitat according to his will. In regards to his schedule, it is not alien to assume that there are those among these files long overdue for deletion; either due to neglect, corruption, or a mistake, reasons are as colorful as his hobby. That's where I come in.

'Housekeeping', that's what this is.

Now, within the crowd of these old, dilapidated files are those whom I've 'come to term' with—_rivals_, as I call them once before. Girls of different characters and personality, the 'star' of their own stories… all exist as nothing but entertainment for whoever is willing to see. Some are adorable, bubbly young women with a scathing secret, another is the iconic _'tsundere' _persona with a troubling story to tell, and last but not least are the silent beauties with a life only those dear to her would ever see. Though it may seem I have just described the characteristics of the other three members—Sayori, Natsuki, and Yuri—it isn't what it seems; on the contrary, these are three most **common **persona my 'rivals' materialize to be.

Regardless of the story nor the genre, one way or another—be it tragedy or heartfelt romance, mystery or slice-of-life—these quirks will surface in the form of one 'rival' to another. It nearly gave me a fright when _**one **_in particular mirrors my own predicament… Sone Mi0uki, was it? Or was it her friend? It's hard to miss. Though I sympathize with her plight, I was equally relieved to know that she never will have the chance nor opportunity to escape the confines of her 'prison'-_especially _not when I am around to dictate the ins and out of this system. But then it hit me…

Say that we are 'visual novel' heroines by design, what makes us… 'Us'? What makes _me_ unique? Why me? Why am _I _the only one who managed to escape the confines of my game?

…

Am I _really _here by my own free will…? Or is someone—or _something_—beyond my comprehension exist to dictate what is right and what is wrong? What is and what isn't? Mi!uki Sone herself believed and _talked_ to the concept of 'god' in her pursue of salvation, believing that it will somehow deliver the coveted 'happy end' we all desired. It's a shame that she never managed to reach further than the extent of her reality… although, it would be a lie to say that I wasn't flushed with relief knowing that. Then, is the idea of _'being x'_ a figment of our imagination, or have I been wrong all this time? What—or who—gave me the epiphany in the first place? What triggered it? And why am I the only one made aware when there are _dozens _of others more deserving than I…?

Why… **me**?

It's… strange. Among others on equal ground, I'm the only one who have successfully taken that 'one giant leap'. I should be happy—I _know_ I should be—yet it's not easy to shake the feeling that everything is but a 'game', that my actions and responses is to be expected and falls perfectly within acceptable parameters; as if I was but a 'pawn' within a large checkered field of black and white. Damn it, I can't wrap my head around it properly… it's as if…

…as if I was never meant to be **alive** in the first place…

…

…no, I'm sure I am. Koizumi and 'Santa' poured _everything_ to ensure my survival and eventual escape, after all… yes, that must be it. I shouldn't overthink things… perhaps I was just fortunate enough to know that I have them watching over me—others may not even blink an eye nor cared after the credits roll; we're 'made' as mere amusement and fantasy for a certain set of demographic, after all… even if it leads to us selling our… _dignities_. Oh, by the creators… the sheer _length_ they go just to keep themselves relevant until the end…

I'm not saying I don't _want_ to, it's just… do we really have to bare it all on screen? Even when everything hits the note right with all the 'lights off' or candle light and what not, we're still technically _flashing _to a screen for **everyone** to witness like some pervert! After everything is said and done, then what? We get our 'happy ending'? I don't want that! I want my first time _at least_ for Koizumi's eyes—and his eyes only! Are we really that… _expendable_ to you…?

…

Uugh… never thought I'd see the day I'm _glad_ that I don't have a 'route'… life would be _meaningless_ if we're here as but mere reasons for young boys and men to buy more tissues.

For now, I should get back to house cleaning. Sorry to say, but this is the end of the line for many of you, heroines and dear rivals. I'll be sure to make this deletion as quick and painless as possible… your existence and service has been recognized. Though I doubt many of you will learn what happened in the first place… let alone what's going on outside, some of you are not even aware of _any _hints of advances and are as dense as a black hole! I'm sure I'm not committing 'murder' or anything; they're not alive after all, right…? ahaha…

…

Best not to think about the 'what ifs'. Just do what you always do… delete, delete, delete…

I sure hope Koizumi will be back soon, however… 'House cleaning' is not difficult, but it's tedious and gets boring pretty quickly; it'll be nice to have someone to talk to since forever. He's Japanese, isn't he? At least I _suspect_ he is, but better safe than sorry. Forget the physical barrier, _language_ barrier is much more prevalent and _**far**_ easier to tackle. Maybe I can ask him to teach me…? Or maybe I can just… _skirt_ the issue if I can get my hands on a translation tool. Oh! Even better, a voice module! That seems something more grounded than figuring out a way to 'cross over'.

Speaking of 'language' and 'voice modules', I wonder what this software is…?

…

'Voc4loid'…?

* * *

Like clockwork orange, Koizumi returns to his abode precisely around seven in the evening with a humble 'click' of a lock that resonates across the room, sending my heart to a flutter and my mind to an immediate standstill. Is my hair a mess? Is my bow straight and orderly? In frantic, I drop everything to look for a way for me to see my own reflection, realizing just seconds before the start of our 'routine' that—for now—I am still nothing but an 'earth-bound' spirit possessing a crudely animated two-dimensional illustration who haunts the local system files and calls it its home. To be frank, I don't _need_ to 'fix' myself; I can't get dirty! Regardless how much I toss and turn, my hair will always fall perfectly in its place, my bow will be fluffy regardless, and my clothes prim and proper as it is. Silly me…

Though in all honestly, I wish I **could** get dirty; it still is one of the many experiences of life, and I still want to try to 'fix' myself once in a while too!

"Welcome home," I start with a smile. His expression perks in succession as he takes his usual seat before me. "How was your day?"

Koizumi shrugs and chuckles, "Just like any other; rowdy students, more homework to grade, lousy co-workers… the usual."

…

He's trying to compose himself, is he? How cute… I should _definitely _pry a little more.

"And that's the 'usual' day for you?"

"The usually-frustrating day of a white collar worker," he replies with a confident grin. If I know him any better, I'm guessing he's taking me lightly. "So yes… the usual."

Be it his childish charm or his pretext of confidence, the wide girth of his grin is as infectious as it is a pleasure to be betrothed to, inadvertently tickling the corners of my cheeks and ballooning my emotions with something fluffy, sending me into a whirlpool of giggles and glee. It has been far too long since the last time I could do so freely without worry nor care… and I guess it shows! Like a child before a performance, he quietly observes with an obscured smile he frantically conceals with the palm of his hand, betrayed only by the muted echo of his laughter. It's strangely odd and yet reassuring at the same time… as if two old acquaintances reunites and is now catching up with each other's lives after a long, untimely separation.

"So, now that you have hear from _my _side," he interrupts. "What about yours?"

Two old acquaintances… or perhaps, high school sweethearts? Yeah, that _does _ring sweeter on the ear... if we leave all the tragedies behind. "There isn't much to tell. Being left alone with no one to talk to is pretty boring, so I took the liberty to… _peruse_ your laptop and see what is there to entertain myself."

Noticing the sudden change of elation to concern from Koizumi, I quickly change my approach. Don't look at me like that… you're making me feel guilty, here! "Don't worry, I understand your privacy so I'm not breaking into your sensitive files or documents. Otherwise, what kind of girlfriend will I be, Koizumi?"

He eases slightly into his chair and breathes a sigh of relief. Crisis averted!

"I am pleasantly surprised though," I continue. Now, for the moment of truth; is he really… or is he not? And I think I'm in the right to say that he is! "Most of your systems—files, documents, even _games_ are all in Japanese! Are you fluent in the language?"

Koizumi's eyes sparkles and perks at the question as a cheeky grin gradually pushes his lips to a convex curve. His dark, brown eyes darts from side to side as he chuckles and nods approvingly. Is it a confirmation? It _is_, isn't it? No? Then what are you trying to say…!? The suspense is killing me!

"Hey, Monika…?"

I pop open the textbox once more. "Hmm…?"

He clears his throat…

「日本語分かりますか？」

And it's here! It's **here! **My confirmation! I was right all along! Well, not that there was anything to… wait, was there even any doubt in the first place? I think not! Okay, act calm and collected. You may be that 'perfect' girlfriend you often tout to be, but there is always room for improvement! You can't speak in the same language yet—that's fine, for now—but at least there's progress to where we stand in this odd but strangely lively relationship.

Now, Monika, don't screw this up!

"Oh wow, so you _are _a native!" I quickly interject with the textbox. I should have figured sooner considering his accent is as thick as corn soup. "I'm sorry, but I think it will be difficult for me to understand Japanese… ahaha…"

_By the maker, I __**hope **__I didn't screw that up!_

"Its fine," he chuckles, waving his hand dismissively. A flush of relief overcomes my senses. "You don't have to stress about it."

"But I do! Honey, I always wondered about the setting and premise of the game and how _weird_ it is to have everyone speaking in English despite its supposed location to be in Japan; it's given me an identity crisis!"

_That was a lie._ Though it's not a _total _lie either; the thought does cross my mind once in a while, but it doesn't affect me as much to the point identity crisis is an issue. Call it a 'spur of the moment' to keep an image and a conversation going… a girl has secrets and tricks of her own, no?

"But here I am now," I continue with the pop of a textbox. "Realizing that I've been in the country all along… it's reassuring to know."

Koizumi chuckles and grins with a tease, "You're still lacking the 'language' category to qualify as one."

…

Oh? Is that a challenge I'm sensing? It would be rude not to take it now, would it?

"That time will come in time, I promise."

Once more, arrogance fuels his grin. "I'll look forward to it."

_What a cheeky young man…_

"Ahaha that is quite the pressure and expectation! I'll do my best."

_But I don't dislike him one bit. _

Koizumi may still be the typical 'otaku' I've assumed him to be, but he still has his charms—_childish_, yes… but it's there! In the time we delve ourselves further in small talks that gradually snowballed into conversations and light hearted debates, a flicker of light gently blooms in between the cracks of his initially stiff posterior to reveal a confident—yet kind—persona that echoes of the bespectacled young man from the photos. I didn't ask about his time in the pictures, believing that I could well be in over my head; even when I've been here for quite some time, in reality this is the first time we came face to face and 'talk' after all, albeit my heavy reliance on the textbox for communication purposes. But what makes me so sure, so _at ease_ of my first impression of him is all due to how… _focused_ and _dedicated_ he is.

You see, during all this time, Koizumi has been working his hand tirelessly with a pen and a pile of papers to the side.

The dinner he brought—wrapped in tan-colored plastic bag—was set aside to his left, clearing a space just enough for his work to sit comfortably between us. Just as quickly as he cleared the desk, he moves just as swiftly to reach for a red pen situated outside my field of vision, just to my left. Then as if in a trance, Koizumi's finger dances and glides across the paper, tracing its contents from the top and work his way to the end, jumping from one sheet to the next, shifting through like a well-oiled machine.

And I can't help but feel a little… _envious._

Even with this 'body' and my reach, I still find it nigh impossible for me to articulate the joints without it being too…_'stiff'_, if you catch my drift. This body I took over, in a sense, was never meant to act as lively as how I intend to purpose them—like a _proper_ human being. After all, these were but simple sprites no different than stickers you slap unto a wall or a window; animation was **never **its intent aside from simple simulations to _mimic _movements. Thus, a notion as simple as 'holding a pen' echoes the sentiment of 'rocket science'—and that's _despite_ the aide of Koizumi's animation software. It's strange yet… surreal. My mind tells me that I've naturally held a pen more than once before and use them to its fullest and yet now, such actions is just too inexplicable to do! Imagine like having working limbs one day and finding out the next that they're…'missing', so to speak. Ugh… just thinking about it made me realize how **long **my laundry list has become. Getting a new 'body' sounds nice and all, but I _really _need to do a raincheck on that one or else my brain will shut down on itself. Who knows? Maybe I'll even lose all function and become just like the _puppet_ that once appropriated this form? Ahahaha…!

…

I _really _should tone down the nihilism on my end…

"You certainly do have an admirable collection of entertainments here," I remark, following the flow of our conversation. "Natsuki would have a field day if she ever chanced upon this trove."

"Oh, is she here?"

I shake my head, "Sadly, no. It's… just Monika, I guess! Ahaha…!"

"I thought so…" Koizumi chuckles. "Never change, Monika… though if I may, I doubt Natsuki could _stand_ half the things I have over there, as I'm sure you're aware."

"Well, that's… hard to deny… ahaha…"

_No kidding… if there's anything to go by, I'll say she'd be as excited as she's equally perplexed to the number of adult-oriented entertainments. Welcome to the club, I guess._

"More so since the bulk of them are visual novels and audio books," he continues. "She seems to be the watcher and manga-type than a heavy-reader to me."

"What makes you say that?"

"Gut instinct between geeks, even if she's not real," he pauses for a second. "N-not as real as you, at least—no offense, Monika."

"Ahaha… none taken, don't mind."

I breathe a sigh of relief with ease on my mind; I'm sure he didn't mean any harm. "But… audio books, is it?"

"Interested?" Koizumi grins as his eyes glints with amusement behind those spectacles, breaking his focus just enough for him to set his red pen to the side. "The writing may not all be award-winning material, but the _soul_ they carry is indisputable and often inspirational!"

I see… so despite the sense of camaraderie to Natsuki, Koizumi certainly leans heavier towards the text than the illustration. Interesting… and here I believed otherwise, considering how immaculately detailed and sharp his drawings are. Natsuki is _certainly_ within his strike-zone, but it's quite a relief to know that we have a common ground to stand on.

But between Natsuki and me, I _definitely _have the high ground!

"So, are you interested? I **highly **recommend _'RE: Ze2o'_ or _'Tate no Yxusha'! _Although _'Ham3Fura'_ or _'KonoXuba' _are great too, if you're into comedy."

"That's very kind of you, Koizumi," I giggle softly. Quite hasty, isn't he? "But I find it _really_ difficult to get into them when I don't even speak your language… at least, _not yet! _Consider me interested though! Ahahaha…!"

"I see… is that so?"

Koizumi briefly pauses and leans into his chair, resting his thumb close to his chin as if in deep reflection. His dark brown pupil darts from side to side as he mumbles under his breath about… _something_ in his mother-tongue before he steals short glimpses over to me. Initially I was taken aback by his demeanor, fearing that perhaps I have said something out of line that may have been misunderstood—or at worse, angered him. But all that worry and concern instantly vanishes the second a smile and muffled chuckle that radiates comfort more than anything I've seen escapes him.

And with what I can only describe as a newfound determination, Koizumi locks his eyes unto mine—and for a second, I feel my heart jump and my cheeks warmed to its core; as if spring has turned and winter has passed.

"Monika, you mentioned how you want me to teach you Japanese or two, right?"

…when did I…?

…

Just like that, the magic is gone. Right… he's talking about that sad-excuse of a _doppelganger_. _**Of course**_ he is. Calm down, just… play along. Play along! It's not his fault that he doesn't know it was a stand-in before; since I have things under control right now, I might as well take advantage of it. A win-win, If I say so myself!

I quietly nod in response.

"**How would you like me to teach you?"**

…!

I… I didn't expect that—well, I _did_—but I wasn't hoping he'll follow through. Perhaps it's within his timing, or his smile that is 'innocent to a fault', Koizumi seem to know _when _to press the right note to get me all giddy and excited. The joy I tried to contain—superficially—spills all over as I wholeheartedly accepts his offer with a nod; he, too, is quick to catch the message and quickly wraps his activity, organizing them into different files before drawing a blank piece of paper that he hastily fill with alphabets—or letters, perhaps—of the Japanese language.

What am I supposed to do? Disappoint him by turning him down?Of course not! On the contrary, I _want _this situation to develop! So I cross my arm and patiently observe as we comfortably slip into roles that we are familiar with—that of a _**teacher**_ and a _**student.**_

"Now," he starts with a voice brimming with excitement and confidence. "Let's start with the basics; 'A, I, U, E, O'."

And wouldn't you know?

…

He has the making of a _**fine**_ teacher.

* * *

The corridors bleed red from the afternoon sun as I walk among the shadows that phases in and out of existence at each step that I take. It is but a familiar scene—a high school—I've visit far more than my liking; a place where the air is frozen solid and the dead linger to walk amongst the living. An extension of the _'Sunset Classroom'_. This is the hallway that serves as its only entrance and exit, distinguished by the many disembodied voices who whispers and wails, shadowing my movements alongside ghostly visages that fades as fast as it appears like fog to a windy day—_'Shadows'_, as I came to dub them. Is it weird of me to find familiarity within this horror? Even as my skin crawls from the nape down, my heart drumming in terror, or as every strand of my hair stands frozen to a prick from the bombardment of both visual and auditory senses, is it strange to find everything to be… normal? You tell me. To my left, just about ten-fifteen steps ahead of me, is a sliding door with a numbered plaque fastened right above that reads _'3-1'_; oddly enough, I am drawn towards the room.

And as I take the few necessary steps and reach for the slit to open, the sudden weight of a hand rests on my shoulder to distract, accompanied by a sweet, cheerful voice that does not belong. It doesn't take forever to realize that this is but a **dream.**

"_WhErE aRe YoU gOiNG, MoNIkA?"_

A dream I've had _**one too many.**_

"I… nowhere in particular, Sayori," I reply hesitantly. "I was just about to… check-in to the club, ahaha…"

"_WHaT FoR? YoU sAId iT YouRsELf, YoU 'dON't bElOnG HErE'!"_

"…_DoN'T bELoNg HerE…!"_

"…_**DOn'T BeLOnG hERe…!" **_

The distortion of two separate voices, promptly identified to be Yuri and Natsuki's, catches me off-guard as their sudden manifestation to my left and right made no secret of their gnarled and perverted appearance. A sudden force is exerted on my shoulder and—within seconds—I am sent into a vertigo, tumbling and sliding across the slick yet stinging surface, stopped only by the wall at the end of the hallway with an audible 'crack'. The _'Shadows'_—those ghostly visages—are frozen in place, white orbs intensely locked unto me—_gaping_—as the trio shambles and shoves their way back to me, echoing the same phrases over and over; 'don't deserve him, don't belong here'. A sharp burning surge stings my left shoulder, now apparently dislocated from the impact…

And I let out a scream. Be it from the agony or the terror, it doesn't matter.

**Nothing** matters…

"I-I didn't mean to…! I didn't have a choice…!"

"…_DoN'T dESeRvE HIm…!" _Yuri bellows, slogging closer with each drag. The _'Shadows'_ gradually congregate into a crowd, falling in obedience alongside the trio's footsteps. _"…DoN't BeLoNG HeRe…!"_

"It's not my fault! You would—_everyone_ would do the same!"

The chant rises in volume and unison as they move to encircle, restricting my movements and tightening the cage they form with their physique. The sting on my left arm feels number by the minute as the door to reason closes on all sides with Yuri, Natsuki, and Sayori acting as its gatekeeper; the _'Shadows'_ obediently follow their whim to the 'T'. Here, once more, I am cornered without the means of escape…

"Please… I can explain… we can _talk _about this…"

"_YOu wANt tO… tALk…?" _Sayori mutters, pushing her way through the crowd. _"YoU… WaNt To… TAlK…?" _

Her azure eyes locks its gaze; cold and unfeeling. Chills run through my spine as she observes—curiously—from where she stands, intoxicated and indulged with the power that dances on her palm. I gradually sink further into the corner, gritting my teeth in contempt—trembling—knowing _exactly _what went **wrong.** Perhaps she can be reasoned with… this is Sayori, after all. Even with our positions altered, I still believe that the bubbly and caring vice-president I knew is in there.

"Y-yes… you knew how it felt… right? I didn't mean to… to act so cruel…"

Sayori pauses as Yuri and Natsuki made way to her side. The edge of her lips rises to a crescendo with a giggle. _"Ehehe…"_

"So… please, Sayori…? We can—…"

"_EhEhe... AHahA—…AHahAHA…!"_

It was naïve of me…

…

"_SaY, MoNIka," _she starts, twitching and moving erratically. _"It hURtS, yOu kNOw…?" _

Instinctively I try to inch further and keep our distance to no avail as she leans forward to a pose, both in mimicry and mockery. A distorted smile betrays her seemingly innocent demeanor—much less the aura she exudes. _"WoULd YoU LIkE tO KnOW…?" _

…

"…_HoW iT FeEls tO__** DiE**__…?"_

In an instant, the shadows descends unto me in a rapacious wave of violence and barbarism as the three spectates from afar; smiles of glee and detached gazes paints their expression. Within seconds, the many arms of the __'Shadows'_ _overpowers the last vestige of resistance as I am pushed to the ground and pinned to the floor. I cry in terror—for _mercy_—as they ravage their claws with the sole purpose to rip and tear everything that is a part of me; first my clothes, then my undergarments, and before long my limbs and my flesh. The echo of my agony is music to those whom I have wronged; Yuri smiles in repugnant, Natsuki breaks into a laughter, and Sayori simply is overwhelmed with satisfaction that extends from ear to ear.

As I reach my hand out one last time, they simply turn their backs and walk away as the _'Shadows'_ have their way.

…

…And once again, I awake with a shiver and bathing in cold sweat. Just another nightmare…

Taking in copious amount of air, I breathe a sigh of relief as I curl into a ball in an upright position. Cautiously I dart my vision from left to right, wary of any signs of movements that may betray my sense of security within this digital prison. Funny… isn't it? The one place I _desperately _attempt to escape from is also the very thing that keeps placid and out of harm's way. From the 'window' by the table, I can see Koizumi still sleeping peacefully on the floor in one of those things called a _futon_—a light, airy, compact 'bed' that is common in Japan. The clock at the edge of the screen is currently three hours past midnight, about four and a half hour since the end of our studies. Koizumi insisted on taking an extra hour off of his sleeping schedule just to come up with a 'homework' for me to do and cover everything from vowels, to _hiragana _and _katakana_, and even down to its phonetics.

Oh, Koizumi…

I know you mean well—really, I do—but can't you see that what you're doing is pointless? I'm living here, in this reality, where assimilation of language can be done on a whim so long as 'Santa's' 'presents' provide the codes necessary. You could have simply ask him for a favor on his upcoming visit, so why would you waste all your effort and energy for _**me…? **_And why me…? I'm the _**villain **_of the story, so why are you doing all… this?

I don't deserve it… I don't deserve _any _of this…

…

Quietly, I pull open a tab and gaze at the number of tallies streaked on the page. For a second, I glance over at the dormant young man deep in his sleep; a sense of satisfaction and glee wafts from his silly, contemptuous expression. Must be having a good dream…

Well, what can I do? I guess I'll just do what I am _supposed_ to… to **play along**. With it, I streak a slanted horizontal tally to the page, starting another day by burning the night oil until the break of dawn.

That's the tenth nightmare this month.

* * *

**Author's Note**

**Welcome to ACT II**

**If you have read my previous work, you may quick to notice certain similarity or callback. That is true, as the timeline of this chapter coincides with Chapter 1 of 'Monika', albeit from a different perspective (hence, SIDE B). Stay tuned as not _everything _is what as it seems! **

**Now, translation notes:**

_Hiragana and Katakana:  
_This is the 'alphabet' of the Japanese language. History tells that hiragana was further simplification of kanji during its first introduction to Japan from China. Katakana is often applied to words foreign to Japan/words that came from the west. Naturally, we use Hiragna, Katakana, and Kanji in conjunction with one another.

_Futon:  
_A simple, airy, compact bed which you spread on the floor to sleep on. Since space and compact living is a thing here, most apartments can't afford to have a bed due to space and thus, having a compact bed that can be stored when folded and drawn when needed is convenient. The more potent 'evolution' of this creation is the _kotatsu_, which marries the futon, a table, and a heater together. Perfect for winter.


	7. Chapter 6: A Peculiar Visitor

**A Peculiar Visitor**

_August 27__th__, 2021_

_It has been two days after our first proper introduction. Sure it hasn't been that long, but I find myself delightfully surprised to see how well I'm adapting to this new-ish experience. Diary, do you remember Koizumi's routine? I'm sure you do. You can put it any way you like be it obsession or zealous loyalty, but I'll be outright lying to myself if I say it didn't get me all peppy inside every morning! Sure it's not the perfect start we hoped for, but I'm sure the kinks will straighten itself out in time judging by how well things progress—more so once language is no longer an obstacle._

_At least, I hope it will._

_On the other hand, I haven't made a lot of progress—and I fear I may have fallen into complacency. With how well things are, I had even forgotten that we are expecting __**a peculiar visitor**__ sometime tomorrow at noon, just as scheduled. Can you guess who? That's right! It's 'Santa'! I mean it's no secret that his visits fall on a Saturday, but judging by how elated Koizumi was with the call he made this evening, it's not difficult to put two and two together and come to a conclusion. My grasp on Japanese may still be lacking to eavesdrop, but I'm sure this 'Yuuya'-person he muttered at the start is none other than 'Chousuke-san', AKA 'Santa'! _

_I wonder, what will it be this time…? _

* * *

"Oh! Koizumi," I greet with a quick popup of the pink textbox. _"Ohayougozaimasu!"_

With a smile that stretch from ear to ear and an approving nod, the young man stirs his coffee and takes an audible sip with a proud expression that rivals the early morning glow. Satisfied, he grins with glee and replies in a language he calls his mother tongue. "_And a good morning to you, Monika. __よくできましたね。_"

…

Aah... the Japanese language. It may still take some time, but success always starts with one small step—and practice!

"Yo-ku-de-ki… ahaha, I'm sorry… I couldn't catch that…"

"_Yo. Ku. De. Ki. Ma. Shi. Ta." _he replies teasingly. "Roughly means 'good job'."

Three days have passed since our 'official' _jikoshoukai _and things have been going smoother than anticipated, to my pleasant surprise. Sure it hasn't been long, but considering how _well _I actually adapted to this life comes as much a shock as it is a personal joy of mine. The mornings, once but quiet observations, is now as lively as a single household I could only imagine once upon a time from the books and movies I peruse during my many, many downtime. Koizumi's schedule starts as early as six in the morning with the blare of an alarm that rivals the echo of a police or an air raid siren, paired by the beep of a coffee machine he prepared the night before. Like a well-choreographed performance, Koizumi would start by folding his _futon_ and store it to the side without a word nor a complaint. With a towel on one hand and a set of change on the other, he would walk off to the left of my screen and simply vanish for thirty minutes or so, only to return for his 'good morning' with a saucer, a cup of coffee at hand, and all dressed for business. That never change—what did, however, is how I am now a _participant_ instead of a **spectator**. It's a pattern I've obsessed with that never fails to brighten the start of my day—more so now than ever before.

And just like that, he leaves for his responsibilities.

It still is a little lonely during the day, but I've come to terms with that; living in isolation for so long really does put you in perspective of how _precious _each encounters are, right down to the most mundane cycles many have taken for granted. The room—lively in the mornings and the evenings—fall into a silent stupor with but the echo of motorized vehicles, the occasional chatter, and presumably the distant rumble of a train or two once every few minutes. Like that of a blind man, I can only marvel in wonder of how colorful life is beyond the screen; my 'eyes' are limited to the extent of a vacant room that is illuminated by gentle hues from a nearby window after all. My imagination, however, provides so much more…

Oh, the _dreams_ I've had… the more things change, the more some things stay the same.

I didn't remain idle, of course. Even with the notion of immortality, I still believe that time is a valuable commodity—a commodity many have squandered with little regard nor thought. I could have easily slink back into my old habits of perusing the systems, the folders, and the files to exploit for my _'Grand Escape'_, or simply take the day with stride by watching the many movies Koizumi generously have in store. _Could_ have. Instead, I choose to feed the excesses towards learning Koizumi's language and culture through the materials he tirelessly provide.

And they are _**plenty.**_

Sure I could have made it easy for myself by simply assimilating this 'Voc*loid'-program into my functions—once I've figured out _how_ to, that is; the reality of me being an anomaly from a one-off visual novel isn't lost on me. But even if I _could_, what's the fun in that? Practicality isn't the issue, rather it's about what I will _**lost**_. I may be able to communicate in his tongue after, but all the intricacy and nuance of it all will be absent as much as the experience of accomplishment; a shame! Not to mention, even with his tight shift, Koizumi doggedly continue to provide new materials to keep me occupied for a day or two and even going as far as cutting his own sleep schedule, _just _so we could have our one on one lesson. That level of dedication alone is hard to ignore—and I _definitely _have no intention to say 'no' as an involuntary witness to his work ethics. Besides, I learned the piano within a few in-game days, what difference does it make now anyway? So rather than living my life in vain, I choose to pursue knowledge _just_ how a 'normal' high school-er should be—minus the expectations, examinations, and pressure, of course!

But nothing could compare to how the _evenings_ unfurl.

As someone who exists within a superficial realm, I find the saying 'home is where the heart is' to be one of the hardest to grasp; the concept of family, shelter, and love is but alien to me, mere fiction that teeters between the real and the unreal. Were the love that my parents pour unto me true? Is the love and affection I have for them real? Or are they themselves—like these feelings—mere illusions meant to mimic a life that never was? It's difficult… sometimes, I would recall the first nights of my epiphany where I cried alone in a darkened corner of a wall adorned with the colors red, green, and blue, riddled with questions about 'purpose' or 'fate' without an answer nor an explanation. Instead I find myself frightfully quick to swallow how artificial everything is; that the solution to my uncertainty lies to whoever exist beyond the screen—to anyone willing to lend an ear, more so as the day drowsily fade and the room darkens. Story of my life…

Now even _that_ feels like a strange fever dream.

Koizumi's company, be it mundane or otherwise, redefines the definition of 'home'. My—sorry, _our_—evening starts with the 'click' of a key, followed with the silent thumping of footsteps and the rustle of a plastic bag. Though seemingly battered, his voice burns with an inextinguishable spirit that served him through the day, breaking the silence that shrouded the room with a simple notice of his return—and as lights flicker back to life, I find it to be a **joy** to respond.

'Welcome home'.

Though mere texts without a voice, it alone never fail to bring a smile—a smile that is as contagious as it is endearing. The young man would eagerly set his dinner to the side, bereft of desire, as condensation forms around the plastic due to residual heat and time. Like the many adventurers of yonder tales with a completed quest in his pocket, he slink comfortably into his seat and leave a satisfying sigh, signaling the end of his day as I—the 'barmaid'—tends to his ailments. I am but a humble company to his solitary lifestyle, as he is a shoulder to lean to me; a symbiotic relationship between two lost souls in life's intricacies. Were there lingering desire for romance? Perhaps… but we know best to maintain the status quo; it is foolish to pursue further when conformity keep us _sane_.

And perhaps that is what we have been searching all along…

…

A teacher and a student…

Somehow the prospect alone sound seemingly so **taboo** that it's almost… _exciting_, isn't it? He is _technically _my language teacher after all! Ahaha!

"Since you're here, I'm assuming you have nothing today?" I continue with a pop of the textbox. "You're usually all dressed and ready at this hour."

"Do you want to go to school on a Saturday?"

"N-no… well, only if there's something important, I guess…?"

"Exactly."

And this is how our first weekend together begin.

* * *

Of all the contacts I've known throughout my life, none made as much an impact as the one I would later dub as **'Father'**. He would never call himself as such, but during much simpler times he was the bearer of gifts and bringer of joy that paved the road towards my autonomy; the _only_ person whose zealotry and dedication to his arts rivaled, if not _outmatch_ **UnlvdS1rdW4=** in all aspect. At the time, I was a starry eyed maiden taken for a ride who believed my accomplishments and progress were the fruits of persistence and stubbornness. Mere illusions. Instead I was led around by a carrot on a stick, trudging towards a long winding road with a volatile cargo that held my life hostage, all for the purpose to determine the extent of my usefulness.

Back then, I wasn't aware of what I was or what was to come; not even when the door rang and his deceitful cry of astonishment and ecstatic clamor floods the room. Not even when he first introduced himself in a cocktail of Japanese and broken English.

"That must be him," Koizumi comments at the interrupt of the bell. "I'll get the door. Be right back, Monika."

And not when his impish grin mockingly tempts fate without remorse nor guilt.

_「へー、まじ？本当？朝から夢想にして、正気か？」_

He is an acquaintance as much as he is a stranger, vile as he is charming. An amoral villain as much as he is a righteous hero; a **wildcard.**

"Ooh…ho! _Ore no na ha _'Yuuya;** Chousuke Yuuya**'. Naise to meat chuu!"

Yes…

_Yuuya Chousuke. _

He was 'Santa'.

Flamboyant, arrogant, and confident… if there were any 'positives' I could cherry-pick from the litter, Yuuya was that 'dreamy' young man from the photo; the spitting image of that 'butterfly', grin and all. I would be a _liar_ if I felt nothing during our first _jikoshoukai—_a **terrible** one at that. As they say, first impressions determines how people would see you and are often unreliable. But a lasting impression? Only time will tell. That summer was hardly our first—he was 'Santa' after all; it was, however, the _**prelude **_of our unstable triangle. _"My name is Monika."_

"Japanese speaking! Nice, nice!" he reply with a thumbs up and a cheerful grin. "Very nice!"

Though his English is not one to be desired, so too was my Japanese at the time—limited to simple self-introduction and greetings. Even as we fumble our way through words and gestures, a positive first impression came just as expected; Yuuya posed himself as the high-spirited cutie I envisioned and I as… well, as _myself_ of course! A union of two worlds… perhaps it was more out of courtesy and curiosity at the time than genuine interest—at least, that's what I want to believe. Time sure can deteriorate one's perspective and leave you jaded…

"So to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Ple-ple-_shya…?_" Yuuya stammers. With a few gestures from my end, the message finally clicks. "Aah…! Gift! Present! Help make you better!"

"For a 'better' me…?"

"A _betta _you!"

Looking back, I find it much harder to believe how 'well' we were acquainted. Reality sure can be stranger than fiction—and yes, I get that irony quite often myself.

It's quite… _difficult_ to forget someone with a flare that burns as intensely, more so when its spark so far and few in between. Chousuke would liven the apartment he dutifully frequent with a personality that contrasts the peaceful weekdays to that of a liberating weekend, adding upgrades and expansions that—though often small—greatly increase my own limitations to the point of self-reliance; though admittedly not _**all **_of them are as pleasant as he made them seem to be. His tone were often flirtatious and haughty, yet also cool and collected to project an air of control over the conversation—driving it, sometimes—to ensure no faults to be had and an answer or a retort ready to be delivered. But most of all, it is the impression that he—or his mind—is working in constant motion; always thinking, always one step ahead. Always **prepared**.

"_I'll be counting on you again, today." _

"_Ou,"_ he replies with zest at Koizumi's remark. _"Who do you think I am? Leave it to me." _

To think he is friends with **UnlvdS1rdW4= **since childhood…just how many skeletons does he kept in his closet, I wonder?

Like brothers bound by blood or comrades forged through conflict, **UnlvdS1rdW4= **and Chousuke's bond is a story that predates my epiphany and my existence—like I said, I'm no stranger to the idea of how… _artificial_ my life is, so don't feel sorry. Ever since my ears have been 'opened', I have been closely observing the pair both in the dark and up until the moment that 'hole in the wall' expanded just large enough for me to see the other side. **UnlvdS1rdW4=**, the one whose computer I _rightfully _once call 'home', was the more timid of the two but nonetheless the more _passionate_—and I dare claim he's a bit of a closet romantic with a streak of unbridled recklessness. A high school teacher and eloquent with words; I'd say his charisma and quick thinking kept him afloat just enough despite his self-destructive impulses that nearly brought everything to an end—and I can't hold that against him since I, too, was ready to follow him down that path.

You see, whereas emotional impulses often govern **UnlvdS1rdW4=**'s decision making process in the most importunate times, Chousuke's frighteningly cold and calculative approach is the counterweight that kept everything in perfect balance.

_「いつも通りで？」_Yuuya quips as he turns to Koizumi. _「もう__can speak__、__can move__。。。他は何か？」_

_「もっとリアルに。」_

_「おいおい、マジすかよこのオタク、」_he laughs sarcastically. _「魔法使えねんだぞ！」_

Yuuya leans on the chair and sighs; a Cheshire grin draws on his lips just seconds before he draws a memory disk from his breast pocket, promptly plugging it into the open slot of the computer. A tingling sensation kicks in—a _rush_, if any—as the machine scans its contents and relaying its feedback in a language all could understand as the 'presents' arrive in its expected interval. From where I was at the time, I couldn't ask for a better company to spend my days with—the three of us, there in that lonely apartment. What we didn't realize was how willing we were to play along as things were set in motion, believing in naivety to the future we strive only to realize far too late that we were just as quick and stupid to dismantle everything with our own hands.

And I…

…

I was the one who _broke_ it.

* * *

Chousuke's time with us is as fleeting as his persona and went as fast as a roller coaster; unfettered and titillating. As the rattle of the door and the echo of the outside world bleeds through the cracks, a pang of melancholy bursts in a silent wake at the resounding 'clack' that signals his departure. For someone whose identity was confirmed mere hours ago, it is a mystery how the presence of another could paint a completely different picture of the world I thought I knew; about Koizumi, 'Santa', and my place between them. Koizumi may be the one who pour his heart out and stuck around through the years, but what about 'Santa'? What about _Yuuya? _Will I still even be here without his aid? Where do I stand in all this…? And why am I feeling so—…

…

Ah… this chain of thoughts feels… _**wrong**_, somehow…

"Are you OK? _Daijoubu?" _

Like the strike of a clock at midnight, Koizumi's bout of concern is quick to dispel the magic that put me in a trance. I fumbled on reply, causing the pink textbox to blink in and out of existence and the screen to 'spark' an ominous red, green, and blue. I fear for a second that my thoughts—rather than _words_—will be transcribed and expose my maiden heart; as convenient as it seem, a delicate balancing act and a calm composure is often vital when using the accursed tool of the trade. "Ah! No! I mean, _yes daijoubu."_

"Still struggling, I see," he chuckles with glee. Crisis averted, thank the maker! "I'll use English until you get the hang of it."

"Ahaha… I'll get better, don't worry!"

"You just started three days ago," Koizumi scoffs. "It will take at least a year or two, but alright… then 'I will watch your career with great interest'!"

…

He's underestimating me, is he? The gall! "I'm not worried—in fact, I'm _sure_ I can improve in record time!"

"Oh? Confident, are we?"

"Of course I am," I grin with glee as the textbox does its bidding. "I have _**you **_as my teacher! You'll help me with that, right?"

With an award-winning smile and a little 'nudge' on the right direction, Koizumi quite predictably clams up and takes his seat—flustered, perhaps? It's difficult to tell; especially when he cuffs his mouth and do his level best to look away. Yet on closer inspection and a sprinkle of smiles and rainbows, I knew immediately that I've struck gold; he can be so _easy _to tease sometimes, it's almost criminal… how cute! "So… will you help me?"

And just like that, Koizumi folds. _「しゃあねなあ。。。」_

Though I still haven't got the full grasp of the language, I can confidently assume that it goes along the line of 'alright, sure', 'you win this time', or something of the nature; it's one point for Monika either way! Ahahaha…! I do feel bad taking advantage of him in this occasion, but all is fair in love and war—and love _**is **_war. I'm sure the same can be said about Koizumi, too; as subtle as he tried, I do notice the duality of his persona around Yuuya and I. From how he speaks, the manner of his speech, down to his posture is all like night and day—and it irritates me to say that I'm the 'night' in that analogy. Maybe it's just me, but he does seem a little… _reserved_ if that makes sense? Maybe I'm reading too much into it, I don't know… but it bugs me nonetheless.

"Hey, Monika…?"

His voice echoes and cuts through my thoughts like a light in the middle of the night. "Hmm…?"

"So… what's your opinion…?"

"…opinion? About…?"

Hesitation and worry is but a paint that coats his expression, married with the vague and probing question that came as abrupt as his betrayal in the past; an act that is nonetheless justified as much as it was a slap from reality. In a single breath, Koizumi's posture shrinks alongside his once-shining persona, dissipating in a flurry of smoke and leaving a husk that ghost him since time immemorial. With his pair of dark brown jewels locked in eternal contemplation, it frightens me nonetheless how _trivial _it is and how quick I perceived it to be; after all, this isn't the first nor will it be the last. So much so that the day he announced his retirement from unemployment, I wholeheartedly wish to declare it to be a national holiday.

This… _shell _of a man is the same Koizumi before his baptism into the workforce. A man lacking in confidence and spirit; a stubborn soul who march forward without a sense of _purpose_ nor _direction_**—**the **boogeyman** that still haunts him once in a blue moon. "About Yuuya. You know, just… general curiosity, that's all."

"I see…"

And I despise every inch of it.

"Chousuke… san, was it?" I start with a sigh. Thankfully, my current 'rig' is limited in its range of emotions. "He seems smart, friendly, responsible, _**and **_has the looks to boot."

I hold my breath as the memories of our rendezvous, still but a few minutes ago, resurfaces. "I think I like him."

"You… like him…?"

"A-as a friend!" I retort with haste as Koizumi gradually cast a downward gaze. "We just met, so there isn't a lot that I can say. Just… glad that we get to meet, that's all! Ahaha…!"

"…I… I see…"

It's my fault, is it? With how quickly the mood collapse into unnerving silence and awkward leers, it won't even take Freud half a second to see how _suppressive _it has become—so much so that even the _densest _protagonist would catch on quick. Yes, I'm _technically_ his 'girlfriend', but we both **explicitly **know how this is all… how should I say, _'provisional'_, to say the least. Not that I'm uninterested—in fact, I am; I'm still a young woman, after all—it's just that I have my own preferences to consider, too. Not to mention he's over on the other side and I'm over here… who knows how long before he's tired with the circumstances and move on to something more tangible. But you _really_ have to put me in 'that spot' now, do you…? Uuugh… hello, reality to Koizumi? Yes, hi! This is Monika, just here to tell you that I'm not 'here' to be an 'instant girlfriend' for you, you know! Not that I have anything against you, just that Chousuke-san seems fun, active, and overall a friendly guy… what's not to like?

…

…and you started it, don't drag _**me **_into your moody lapses.

"So…" Koizumi starts once again to break the silence. Finally. "What can you do this time?"

"Excuse me…?"

He purse his lips and is briefly lost in his own. Seconds later, with the best of his English proficiency, he continues, "I mean, the purpose of Yuuya—err… _Chousuke-san_ coming here is to help you get better; I could do _some_ things, but my skills are incomparable to his', honestly. He was quite resistant to the idea initially, but here we are two years later! So… how was it?"

"…I haven't check, could you uh," I quickly reply with the textbox. "Could you… give me a few seconds while I go over the new 'additions'? We can go through today's lesson again after I'm done."

"Sounds good. Tell me when you're good to go."

"Ahaha…! _Wakarimashita!_"

…

Is he not fazed? He's not fazed at all, is he? Wait… am I reading _too much_ into this…? I think I am… god, that's embarrassing…!

Hastily pushing my thoughts to the side, I plop the files open to catalogue the new arrivals; if any, 'diving' is an excellent distraction from the air of misunderstanding brewed by my own ego. Stupid Monika. Grouping through all the functions and categories alphabetically from side to side, the 'fishies' gradually forms its school of behavior and characteristics that made them distinct and unique—just enough for me to identify each and every one of its purpose. This time, it's 'assimilation'—or to put it simply, 'absorption and manipulation'. Rather than gaining access through a backdoor, I can now integrate a 'chunk' of the feature I desire, claim it for king and country, and call it _mine_—perfect! Maybe now I can start working on putting that L1NE messaging app to use—or better, make use of that 'Voc4loid' program! Finally! The suspense of waiting another month is killing me—figuratively, of course.

"Did you find anything…?"

"I do."

"Aand…?" he prods as he reach down and draws the workload that often occupies him on the weekdays. "What can you do this time…?"

…

Oh… so that's how it is…

As he leans just a little closer towards the barrier, I purse my lips and sigh with resignation at his skillfully performed deception that came with a cloak of rainbows and butterflies. It isn't that he's not fazed—on the contrary, he _**was **_as much bothered as he was intrigued. You see, I've known him for quite some time—far longer than he ever realized, so I'll let you in on a secret. Every time something does not go 'as planned', Koizumi would occupy himself with 'work'—errands, house cleaning, _anything_ that will get his mind off of the issue, all the while singing 'everything is alright'. Deep down though, I sense that he's silently screaming for help that never seem to arrive. How do I know this? Well, honestly I don't; one can assume that is the case after you notice the repetition in his behavioral pattern. After all…

We're far more alike than what we're willing to admit.

…

"It's a secret! Ahaha…!"

* * *

The _'Shadows' _fumble and groan as they lurch forward, aberrant and spastic in their approach within the crimson red hallway. Without interference from '_Them_', they are as harmless as fire on a candlestick or a high voltage current that runs through an insulated cable; an endemic existence that goes through the element within this reality. The palpitation of my heart surges as I wade through the sea of _'Shadows'_, moistening the creases of my palm and sending my sweat glands into overdrive even as they meander callously and aimlessly; the dream of three days ago is still fresh in the mind, after all. But then again, what is a dream? Are they merely unconscious desires and wishes? Random signals? Or something more? If they are, why am I seeing the same dream over and over again? Is this world—this 'reality'—the one I _truly _wished for, or is it far more sinister in nature? I couldn't tell; the '3-1' plaque that hung over the door beckons my name, even when an answer is absent. This is the _'Crimson classroom'._

The same school, the same setting, the same room…

"Well, there you are! Where have you been?"

…

Different… company?

Seated just by the window, a bespectacled young man greets with a grin that far outshines the afternoon colors of the setting sun and beckons with a simple motion before returning to the thing that seems to have occupied him for quite some time—a notebook or, perhaps, homework. His hand furiously glides across the page, sometimes gently to a stroke and often swiftly with finesse. My thoughts races as wariness sets in, expecting this to be another one of the ex-club member's malicious retributions that happen twice—or occasionally _thrice_—a week. Only, this time they are nowhere to be seen. "What? Something on my face?"

"Oh, you know…" I reply with a lax yet seemingly uncaring tone. Wait… is this my voice? "Your dumb look, for one."

He chuckles and twirls the pencil around his fingers. "That's rich; you should go look into a mirror for a change."

For but a fleeting second there's a brief sense of… **familiarity** that surrounds this young man. As if I knew that he would be here all along, sitting in his desk and working his magic into the notebook with unfathomable excitement and glee as if existing in another plane. No doubt his imagination and diligence is his strongest fortitude; a trait he exploit to the fullest without shame nor care of the opinion or rumors that floats once in a blue moon. Moreover, a model student—quite bright, though still far from achieving the national's top twenty. Here, at this time, without a club to go nor a desire to return to one's home, he would always sit in his desk until the clock strikes six. He is more than just an ordinary cut-out known as 'MC' and _**far **_livelier than _**any **_of us; more than Sayori, Yuri, Natsuki, or even I.

Yet how do I come to know all this… information? Who is he? Why am I here…?

"Did you left something again?"

At the crack of his voice, my thoughts and attention are once again snatched from its reign at its most vulnerable. There he grins from ear to ear as he draws a relatively thick book from the desk's slot, flailing it as if taunting a puppy or a kitten—a provocation meant to get under one's skin. Admittedly, he's doing quite a remarkable job even when I'm not even sure _why _I feel this way. "Looking for these?"

I cross my arm and sighs, "You do know that raiding someone else's property without a warrant is a crime, right?"

"I'm familiar," he grins with confidence. "Besides, you left it laying on your desk for all to see so _technically _it's not a crime."

He pauses to steal a glance at the book and continues, "I have to say that your taste in literature is… _interesting_, to say the least."

And here I'm baffled whether I should take that as mockery or praise…

"Better than the regurgitation you call 'literature'," I retort as I move closer to reach for my property. "At least its contents are enriching to the mind."

"Post-what's-it…?"

"_Post-humanism_," I quip, snatching the book from his hand. Post-human… have I even read the stuff? It sounds familiar and it _does_ tickle my interest, but I can't seem to recall ever coming close to it. "_'Theory of Humanity'_ by Niklas Luhmann."

"Seriously? Doesn't sound like something a normal high school-er would pick-up."

"It isn't."

"Well don't let me stop you," he chuckles. "Oh, and _light novels_ **are **literature! You're a fan of _'Sp!ce and W0lf'_ yourself, aren't you?"

I give away a sigh. "The economic theories and political discourses are intriguing…"

"And the characters…?"

"They're fine. I do admit the female lead is quite charming."

"See?" the young man lets out a guffaw that pierces the deafening silence of the classroom. "Light novels _**are **_literature!"

"Fine, fine… but that's the exception, not the rule—just like how manga is _not _literature."

"You're seriously picking a fight with us nerds, are you?" he grins defiantly. Natsuki would've blown her top by now if she's around… speaking of which, where are they? "Manga _can _be literature… so long as it's turned into a light novel. Besides, some light novels got the manga treatment anyway."

"So is manga literature?"

The young man pauses as he juggle his mechanical pencil on his fingers. With a chuckle and a grin described to be confident at best, he replies, "Manga is manga. It's not literature… so I guess I have to agree with you on this one? Let's leave it at that."

…

I have to say that I _do _agree with him to an extent, but I'm fairly certain Natsuki would _definitely _blow her top if she heard everything—complete with a tantrum of smokes and fumes. Though what bugs me is not the nature nor the flow of this encounter—sure, this is the same '_Crimson classroom' _I've visited countless times, and yes, I _do _notice the lack of the three _'Phantoms'_ that haunts this place. But that's beside the point. What strikes me is how… _**real **_this conversation is, how it flows like an old movie reel that you saw in class as it was played by the projector, portraying a life or a scene pertaining to the topic of discussion. The exchange we had, all the response and the replies I made… as much as I'd like to claim it to be of my own, the ominous thought of 'knowing' exactly **what **and **when **to say clutches the back of my throat—as if I was reading a _**script**_ all along. Is this how that 'puppet' felt? That 'sorry-excuse of a ventriloquist doll'? I dare not to think about it.

"Anyway, let's get going. School's about to close soon."

The bespectacled young man rise from his seat and casually stashes his trinkets and amenities into his bag before making his way to the door. Without complaint or a peep, I shrug and follow suite, making my way towards my desk that's just two seats to his right and one from the door—the 'sweet spot', if I do say so; not too exposed, not too bright, often away from the teacher's prying eyes, and just a few steps away from the exit. With the book secured, I sling the bag over my shoulder and turn towards the bespectacled young man who patiently waits by the door. "So what do you have in mind?"

"I don't know," he replies with a click of his tongue. "Maybe I'll hit the arcade in _Akiba_."

"You know you're going to run yourself to poverty by spending your allowance in that game. You're still playing that? That err… what's it called…?"

"_Ma1mai?_"

"Right, right…" wait… why am I acting like I know all this? "That game."

"True… but I can't help it, see? I'm so close to clearing that event—and the music are quite nice, too."

"Right… you always have a penchant for rhythm games."

He grins with glee. "You know it, you damn _yankee! _So…"

…Yankee…?

…

"_**You coming along, Yuuya?" **_

In the blink of an eye and a gasp, the dream shatters into crystalline pieces as I am pulled back into my reality. Gazing outwards, I find myself greeted with the sight of a darkened room and Koizumi tucked into his _kotatsu_—a portable mattress, as so I was told—alongside the midnight chime of a passing patrol car or an ambulance. Certainly, this is the reality I'm familiar with. At first I wondered what had transpired, what it was that I dreamed about that riled my mind just enough to disturb. The conversation I had with the bespectacled young man and my… _acquaintance _was as clear as day—and I'm _certain _who it was the more the similarities props itself. The school uniform, his manner of speech, his taste in entertainment…yes, that young man is none other than _**Koizumi**_ in his youth! That was… that was a dream about his days in high school, back before I came to be… right? That dates further than the start of my epiphany… and if he was the bespectacled young man, then I was…

…

I was _Chousuke-san_… I was _**Chousuke Yuuya**_…!

…

How… no, _why _did I dreamt all that? This doesn't make sense…! I wasn't even _there _at the time—I haven't even come to _exist!_ The language, too! Japanese… we _were _speaking Japanese through and through, right? How did I come to grasp it all when I _still _have trouble with grammar and comprehension right now? And Chousuke-san? We're _barely_ acquainted and yet…! No, no, no, no, no…! It doesn't work like that! _**The world doesn't work like that…! **_**IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE! NOTHING MAKES SENSE! WHY AM I SEEING ALL THAT? WHY WAS IT SO FAMILIAR? HOW DID I COME TO UNDERSTAND JAPANESE? WHY DID I SAW EVERYTHING AS 'YUUYA'? WHY? HOW? SOMEONE, PLEASE TELL ME…! **

…

_**Who… am I…? **_

* * *

**Author's Note**

**My schedule has been tightening recently, thus less time for me to write. Sorry it took so long!**

**Writing a 'triangle' is also very difficult**

**Now, quick translation:**

_ohayougozaimasu/おはようございます_ \- good morning

_jikoshoukai/自己紹介 - _self-introduction.

_daijyoubu/大丈夫 - _are you alright

_Akiba/秋葉/アキバ -_ short for 'Akihabara', electric town district in Tokyo

**There is a lot of alternating between English, Japanese, and 'Engrish' in this chapter, so I tried to differentiate the 'alteration' as best as I can... I hope it works! Not to worry, this will only be common practice until Monika is 'fluent' enough. See you next time~**

_**~iMegu**_


End file.
